


The Consequences of Custard

by bustoparadise



Series: The Jenny and The Ox [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustoparadise/pseuds/bustoparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pranks are supposed to be fun. They're not supposed to lead to hurt feelings, or shouting, or leaving Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Consequences of Custard

Sera walks into the kitchen and is nearly flattened by the smell of baking bread. She automatically notes where the loaves are and starts planning a distraction to nick the nearest one before she remembers that this is Skyhold, and all she has to do is ask.

Donatienne is in the back doing inventory, which means no sour glares from the kitchen mistress today. Two of Sera's friends, Bernie, a human, and Alriss, an elf, are pounding dough, along with some staff she hasn't met yet. She waves; Alriss pretends he doesn't see her and Bernie pauses, like she's trying to figure out her reaction, before offering a small smile. Far too small a smile for someone Sera's gone drinking with, who has the dirtiest stories about past conquests.

"Something wrong?" Sera asks.

Bernie and Alriss share a look. Alriss shakes his head slightly. Bernie inhales before stepping toward Sera.

"Can we talk a moment?" she asks.

"Sure." _Something I said when we went out last, maybe?_

Bernie pulls Sera aside, near the warm fire. Sera appreciates it—elfy magic means Skyhold is safe from the worst of a mountain winter, but the wind is getting colder and colder.

"Do you know how to make custard?" Bernie asks.

"Uh, no?"

Frowning, Bernie says, "Enough custard to feed Skyhold is around a thousand eggs, easy. Not only is it hours cracking 'em all, the mixture's gotta be watched real careful when cooking, with the fire at just the right heat. That's much easier here than anywhere else—Diva," their nickname for Donatienne, "just asks for an apprentice and the mages send one over. They say it's good practice. You'll not hear me complain of that.

"But no matter how long it takes, it's still crap of you to steal two pots of custard and spread them down the stairs."

 _Oh yeah. What did I need the custard for again?_ "But...but it was really funny! This inbred Lord Pimple-Arse was talking shite about our food. He had to eat the custard when he slipped and fell in it!"

"No one but _you_ saw it, Sera," Bernie says, exasperated. " _We_ didn't see anything else all that day. Diva made us all stay late and make _three_ whole pots of custard for supper. Alriss's boy has colic, but Diva wouldn't let him leave to help Piyami out."

"Bitch." The guilt nibbling at her insidessteals the fire from her swearing. "And so am I, seems like. Sorry, Bernie. Wasn't thinking. I'll stick to skittery things in people's underpants, all right?"

"Well…good." It stings that Bernie doesn't look convinced—but once the hurt fades, Sera figures she's got reason to be. She's never seen how good Sera can keep her promises.

 _A nice ale might smooth things over. But what about Alriss?_ She turns to Alriss, shouting, "Oi! Al!"

Alriss freezes. One of his fellow workers coughs, and there's suddenly a noticeable space between him and everyone else.

"Just tell me when I'm being a bitch, yeah? You got a baby-sitter whenever you need me!"

Alriss unfreezes, though his brain still seems a bit slow; he stares at her blankly. "Er...you're sure about that?"

"Oh, yeah. Nevermind—shite idea. I'll see if Inky wants to."

"The—the Inquisitor?" Alriss sputters.

"Corinimus is dead. She's got time."

"I'm, ah, sure Andraste's Herald has much better things to fill that time with."

"She's great with kids." Sera isn't actually sure about that part. Apart from a joke here and there, kids haven't come up. But Adder is probably great with them. She killed a darkspawn magister and his pet Archdemon. How hard can watching one sprog be?

Bernie snickers. "Let's hope she can handle the disappearing nappies. Your boy's a—"

"Bernadette, you lazy sow!" Donatienne bursts out from the back, a clipboard and quill in hand. She's a massive woman. There's a lot of muscle buried under the flab—back when Skyhold was first starting up, Sera got hit with a thrown pan or two hard enough to bruise. "Back to work!"

Then Donatienne sees Sera and falls silent. The whole kitchen does.

"Right, shut it." Sera strides up to Donatienne and gets right in her face. "No calling people lazy sows, no making my friends stay late when they got kids crying at home, and no...all the other shite my friends've bitched about!" She can't quite remember them all right now, but complaints about Diva are a favourite topic. "You wanna snap at me? Snap at me, not anyone else."

She braces herself for the furious swearing Donatienne lets loose with whenever she catches Sera running from the kitchens. Instead, Donatienne inhales slowly, swallows, then curtsies.

"So noted, Lady Sera. Do you have any further orders?"

 _Lady Sera?_ "You havin' a laugh?" Blood rushes to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

Donatienne recoils, startled. "No, my lady!"

"'Cuz you're not the only Head Kitchen Mucky-Muck. We got a hundred of you just waiting on an invite from Lady Josie. Probably some of 'em don't have to be told not to be a twat! It just comes natural."

"The staff occasionally require...discipline, Lady Sera—"

 _Lady Sera._ It's like there's a bell ringing in her ears and she can barely hear past it. "Get out."

Donatienne sucks in a breath, like she's just been slapped. "I...I beg your—"

"You heard. You're done."

Sera expects screaming or being smacked with the clipboard. She gets downcast eyes, another swallow, and a slightly shaky curtsy. "By your leave, my lady."

"Friggin' got it," Sera snaps, but only because that's just a thing you say. She really wants to say _Why aren't you trying to box my ears, you cow?_

Spine straight and shoulders back, Donatienne leaves the kitchen. As she opens the door, Sera hears what might be a sniffle before the door falls shut. Or might be her about to hock and spit.

Bernie starts clapping. Alriss seconds her, and soon those near her are clapping and whistling. Those that don't clap are glancing at each other, trying to pass information along with their eyes. Once the applause dies down, the stories spill out: Diva was quick to beat, to criticize, to order the lowest jobs after the most minor mistakes.

"You're coming with us to the stables once we're done, Sera," Bernie says.

That's the stables in the village called Skyhold's Shadow, in the valley below. For a while, the stables were the Shadow's only wooden building, which made them the only place for little people to get proper drunk in winter. The Herald's Rest soon became for the soldiers, the Chargers, the Herald and her inner circle; who wants to run into their boss and their boss's friends when they're drunk? Since Coryphallus bit it, Skyhold's Shadow has more wood buildings than army tents—seems like there's a new inn or store every day. But for those who've been at Skyhold since the beginning, the Shadow's stables are their place for a do.

"Yeah, the stables. Sounds grand." She feels kinda dizzy. And nauseous. "Grab me from the Herald's Rest when you're ready."

"Or from the resting Herald, hmm?" Bernie nudges her in the ribs.

Sera makes herself grin at that old joke. It takes more effort than any smile should. "Wow. Never heard that one before."

* * *

Her clothes feel pinchy. She heads up to her room and strips naked, but the pinchy feeling doesn't leave. It's not her clothes. It's her skin.

She sees Alriss shaking his head, trying to stop Bernie from accusing Sera of being an arse. Bernie inhaling, like she was bracing herself for a talk with Sera. Like they were worried she'd get pissed at them—like there are consequences to pissing Sera off bigger than a rude gesture and a revenge prank.

She knits, only to toss her needles aside, and she draws, only to start stabbing the paper with her quill until she snaps it, and she plucks a tune on her lute, only to drop it on the ground, snapping off a string-tuney-thing.

 _I_ _need Adder._ She puts her clothes back on and goes to find her.

People nod at Sera as she passes—not just friends saying hello when they can't stop to chat, but people she's never met before. Nodding. That's practically bowing. Like Sera is someone important.

As she enters Skyhold's main hall, Josephine sees her and makes toward her, frowning slightly. "Since you have such a great interest in the affairs of our staff, Sera, I take it you can nominate an interim kitchen master or mistress while I hire for Madame Donatienne's position?"

"A what?"

"Who do you think should run the kitchen until I appoint a new kitchen head?"

Sera recoils. _Diva didn't fight? She's just...gone?_ "I don't—how should I know? Ask them." Sera stands on her toes trying to catch sight of Adder. "I just know food goes in my mouth." Poncy git, poncy git, Varric, Three-Eyes, poncy git... "Or on the stairs, sometimes, but not anymore." A flash of grey skin, but it's Katari, not Adder. _Not my Qunari._ "Okay, maybe I'll stuff jelly in a dress—but only old jelly that no one's gonna eat, swear on Andraste's knickers." Where is she?

"I'll start making inquiries, then," Josephine grumbles. Solving problems is to Josephine what relaxing in a warm bath is to a normal person, so Sera doesn't feel too guilty.

 _T_ _here_. Adder's leaving Josephine's office, talking to Cullen and Leliana. Sera doesn't run, but she walks quickly, thinking of what she's going to say. She'd love to just demand Adder fuck her, but even Adder would frown at her saying that in front of the commander of her forces and the woman who's going to be Divine.

Seeing Sera's approach, Adder smiles. "Good afternoon, love."

"Yeah. Afternoon. You had enough time to be boring, Inky. Time for some fun, yeah?" She wets her lips.

Adder's smile doesn't deepen. Instead, she glances at her two advisors. "Give me a few minutes, love? There's this report from the Frostback Basin that I need—"

"Is Corifish back?" She hopes she doesn't sound too whiny. "An Archdemon flying over Skyhold? A rift open up in the cellars and demons are drinking all our ale?" _See. I'm chatting, playing your way. Coulda just_ _grabbed your tits—or other things._

"Not to our knowledge," Leliana says, amused. Sera shoots her a grateful look. She'll be the best Divine ever.

Adder chuckles and kisses Sera on the top of her head. "Okay. Fun it is." She takes Sera's hand as Sera leads her away from her advisors and up to Adder's chambers.

Adder makes her skin feel tingly, then flushed and prickly with heat, then wet with sweat and spit and down-there drool. Adder-smell in her nose, Adder-taste on her tongue, Adder-tits in her hands, Adder-groans in her ears.

When she can make words, she finds herself thinking, _All I need. All I'll ever need._

Lying on her side, Adder pulls Sera close and kisses her on the nose. When Sera sets her head down, half of Adder's face disappears as she sinks into the too-soft feather pillows the Inquisitor loves so much. The half of her face Sera can see, dark grey and weathered, reminds her of those stone ruins they're always finding whenever they go someplace sandy or soggy. Her ear is a massive triangle protruding from her head—like a sail, like a shield. Sera strokes it with her damp fingers as Adder holds her and starts playing with the hair at the back of her head. They're nestled together, every part of their fronts touching, Sera resting her toes on the middle of Adder's calves.

In a deep, dopey voice, Adder says, "'I've really got to read this report on the Frostback Basin.'" She snorts. "Thanks for saving me from myself, love. So, is this a victory celebration for you?"

"Eh?"

"Heard about the kitchen mistress. Red Jenny, fighting for the little people."

"Didn't know I was doing it. I just got mad." _Nobody asked for a Jenny. And I didn't have to fight—everyone's just letting me._

"Ah, an accidental hero. The best kind of hero." Glancing at her anchor hand, Adder grimaces. "Er, usually." She shifts slightly, there's a rush of air, and a sheet of fine cotton descends over her and Sera.

It's soft as flower petals against Sera's suddenly pinchy skin. The bed's not fancy—she's seen nicer in some taverns—but it's fancy enough for normal people. The cotton sheet is dazzling white except where they've stained it; the duvet isstuffed with eider duck down, its colour a rich black interrupted by grey flowers, so many that making the fabric must've took ages. Only the best for the Inquisitor. _Is this how power-mad stupid starts? Get used to one fine thing then start wanting more?_

"You okay, love?" Adder asks. She's staring right into Sera's face—she can see everytwitch, every flicker.

"Yeah." Then she shrugs. "Dunno." She wants to tear off her skin,crawl into Adder's and stay there. Her skin always fits. She even laughs about her huge jug ears. 

"Ah, I know what this is about." Adder kisses her on the temple. "It's all right. This happens to every couple. Things get...accustomed. Expected. We'll try something different next time." A kiss to her cheek. "A new room." One on the corner of her mouth. "A new position." The tip of her ear. "Maybe I could ask Bull for some tips." The top of her head.

"That's not it," Sera says firmly. "Shite, Inky. You think I'm good at fakin'? Just...I dunno. Weird day, I guess."

"Want to talk about it?"

Sera shrugs.

"Want to hear my fantasy about a sexy game of Wicked Grace?"

"Mmm!"

Adder looks so pleased that Sera's stomach goes gooey and fluttery at the same time. "It's another evening of Wicked Grace. You're already under the table, drunk off your ass...so everyone thinks. Josephine starts piling up the silver. And just as I pull out the card I have hidden up my sleeve, I feel your breath on my parts, wet and warm and making," her voice deepens, " _promises_."

Her skin is goose-pimply now. Not pinchy. "Woof." Sera slings her top leg over Adder's thigh and twitches her hips, grinding her ladybits against Adder's stomach. "Keep talking."

* * *

The stable in Skyhold's Shadow smells like shit, of course. But at least it's shit from proper, useful animals, not from dragon-horses and giant nugs or whatever. Someone's fiddling away and most of the kitchen staff are dancing. Sera's sitting on one of the benches made of old, empty crates, drinking ale like it's water and she's just come back from the Hissing Wastes. Bernie and Alriss are keeping her company.

Bernie gets snuggly when she drinks; she's currently clinging to Sera, head on Sera's shoulder. She's wonderful plump—arms and tits and belly like jiggly pillows. Sera can't quite push her away. They flirted, once upon a time. Might've gone further if Adder was less brilliant.

Sera swishes her drink around in her mouth before swallowing. She thinks she's starting to know the difference between good ale and shit ale, and wishes she wasn't.

"Not everyone clapped when I sent Diva packing," Sera says. Was she just like some noble, coming in waving her sausage around and mucking things up?

"Her favourites didn't," Bernie shrugs, "but piss on them."

"I coulda done this years ago...if someone'd told me...didn't know Diva was so bad..."

"For some of us," Alriss gestures to himself, "anybody who don't whip us is a good boss."

"But you an' your...'quisitor, you want more than that for us," Bernie says, lifting her head from Sera's shoulder, leaning in until they're touching noses. "For everyone. For all people. That's...you're 'mazing, Sera. No matter how big you get, still just people."

Sera cranes her neck so her mouth is as far away from Bernie's mouth as possible.  _Didn't know I was big. Didn't even friggin' figure it out._ "I'm taken, drunky."

"Aw," Bernie drawls, wiping pretend tears from her cheeks, so dramatic that Sera can't help but snicker.

After a loud belch, Alriss stands. "Should get back to the fam. 'Night."

"Al..." Sera leans forward. It's very important he understand this. "If I'm a bitch...say it, yeah." One of her pranks was a bucket over Josephine's door. Is there someone at Skyhold who still curses Sera for setting that up? _Fine for nobles and nasty shits to hate me, but not real people._

"Um. Okay? Sure, Sera. Sure." But then again, what else is he going to tell her except what she wants to hear?

Alriss staggers to the door then opens it, letting in a gust heavy with snowflakes. It snows, down here in the valley. It's winter everywhere else except at Skyhold, where stupid elfy magic keeps them from the inconvenience of actual snow.

Sera takes another swig.

* * *

She dreams that she's walking through Skyhold in Vivienne's clothes, holding Vivienne's staff. Everybody bows or curtsies—even her friends. Everybody smiles. She's the Inquisitor's lover. They have to smile.

Sera wakes up with a jolt. _There's no Breach anymore._ _D_ _reams are just dreams..._ _S_ _top being stupid._

She spends the day with Varric, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, the Chargers, Leliana's people—with anybody doing anything fun.

But she can't shake the feeling.

That evening, she figures out a cure.

She puts on her armour and flasks, grabs her bow and quiver, throws a few changes of clothes in her pack, finds some hardtack hiding under a pillow on her window seat, and leaves her room. She'll write Adder a note once she can figure out what to say.

Andraste has other ideas: Adder, most of the inner circle, and Cullen and Josephine are sitting at a large table in the Herald's Rest, and they all look pleased as hogs in shit to see her.

"Sera!" Adder says, gesturing her over with a foaming mug. "Bull wants to drink with the Chargers, the ass, but I finally ordered these two," a glance at her advisors, "to join a game of Wicked Grace." Her voice is normal as you please, but she quirks her eyebrow slightly, for just a heartbeat. _Oh. Right. Adder and her Wicked Grace thing._ Sera hates to admit it, but she's grateful the inner circle plays cards in one of the tavern's back rooms. "Can the Jenny thing wait until morning?"

"Jenny...?" _Why else would I be in full armour, idiot!_ It makes her sound like she's leaving to do good things, not for the mad reason she's actually leaving.

Sera knows how this'll go. She'll join the group and Adder will look at her with those hot orange eyes that set her aching and Varric will joke and she'll laugh and they'll all drink and have fun and she'll forget what she wants to do for another day and maybe she'll order one of the stable-boys around tomorrow without even thinking about it just expecting shite to be done for her because that's just the bitch she is now.

"Sorry, Inky. It can't. I'm off."

"All right...what kind of team do you need?" Not everyone's pleased to be volunteered: Cassandra frowns, imagining the unrighteous crimes Jennies get up to, no doubt; Dorian glances mournfully at his glass of wine. But everyone else in the inner circle looks at her expectantly—even Cole, though she'd never bring him and they both know it.

Sera opens her mouth, about to say who she wants, when a thought stops her: _Can't take a break from the Inquisition if I_ bring _the Inquisition. Shit._

"Said I." It's the pain of not being able to travel with everyone that makes her snap, but there's no way to explain that. "There some other meaning of 'I' I'm too stupid to understand?"

Adder blinks, setting her mug down. As Maryden starts singing 'Empress of Fire' very loudly, Adder stands. "Can we go upstairs and talk?"

"What's to say? I'm leaving for the Hinterlands and I'll be back when I'm back." She just pulled the Hinterlands out of her arse, but it feels right.

Adder closes in, blocking her from the view of the the inner circle and most of the tavern. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! Not everything's about you!"

Sera's surprised to see Adder's jaw clench—for once, there's no joke. "Well, you're _shouting_ atme," frustrationstrains her whisper, begins to make her loud before she clamps down and gets softer, "so I apologize for drawing the obvious conclusion."

" _Drawing the obvious conclusion." Oh, la, look at all my silver words. Always throwing that in my face._ "Not shouting at you! I'm—I'm just shouting! Leave it, Inky!"

Of course, the great Inquisitor can'tdo as she's asked: her lips part, a syllable forming in her throat. If Adder won't leave it, Sera will make her. She spins around and leaves the Herald's Rest, raising her hood against the cold wind.

She's on the steps to the stables when "Sera!" makes her look back. Adder stands some lengths away. _Giving me space._ _Good._ Sera braces for the swift tongue, the joke, the bedroom purr.

"You're," Adder swallows, "coming back, right? To me?"

It's a blow sharp as any of Adder's daggers. Sera recoils, blinking. She knows by Adder's voice that it's a real question. There's only one answer. "'Course, Inky. Skyhold's—you're—my home."

Adder exhales in a huff. She inhales slowly, pauses and says, "You know I want to help you do anything you need or want to." Soft words, spoken slowly in her rich, deep voice that Sera just wants to sink into.

_Oh no. The clever words. Still clutching my belly from 'Are you coming back?' and now this. Shite. Shite shite shite._

"Not even help if you don't want me to—just _be_ with. Big, small. It doesn't matter. I'm yours, Sera, my _love_."

_My love... Just kiss her, play cards, have fun. Sometimes things get weird, but then they get unweird and everything works out—so long as you aren't a daft tit about things._

"If I've done anything to make you feel differently, I'm sorry." Adder takes a step toward her, reaching out.

_Vivienne's. Friggin'. Hat. On. My. Head._

Sera scrambles a few steps back, grabbing a flask from her waist and smashing it on her clothes. Fire roars to life. "Enough fucking talking!"

Adder stops, eyes wide. A laugh bursts from her throat; she claps her hand over her mouth like she's trying to catch it. More laughs shake her shoulders and bring tears to her eyes. Or maybe a bit of that is sadness. It's definitely the reason Sera's eyes are watery.

Sera runs down the stairs to the stables. She stops at the bottom, but Adder doesn't follow.

* * *

The Inquisitor's pain is a current, hot and strong, catching everyone's smaller aches and carrying them along. Cole swims in it, trying to keep his head above water, humming tunelessly to keep himself from speaking.

"I cannot believe her!" Josephine's cheeks are flushed. "Shrieking at the Inquisitor like a fishwife in front of the entire tavern! Rumours running rampant, how rein them in before they reach our enemies? Bad enough the bucket over the door when Lady Maugeri walked through, now this!"

"I could have told Adder—should have—a better friend would have," Dorian says. "You juggle a lit torch, of course you'll drop it and burn yourself one day. That caterwauling cretin. That wailing waif. She hurt my best friend—damn her!"

"Sera, Sera, what's wrong?" Blackwall says. "Do you even know?"

"She lit herself on fire!" Varric crows. "Shitty for Adder, but Andraste's ass, I need to use this! It'd be a good fit for my Broken Circle trilogy. I'd have to change Opal's specialization to fire magic—that means no big blizzard in book two..."

"That poor fool would drive away the one person who could put up with her," Cassandra says, sighing.

"Maker, I'm glad I'm single," Cullen mutters. "Although Cassandra's hair in the firelight is...a thing I shouldn't notice. We're two swords, meant for clash and clamour, not meant to rest safe in a scabbard."

And beyond them is Adder, who enters the tavern and walks to their table, her expression pensive. "Weightless, wind in your face, fast and frantic—falling is fun until you open your eyes and see the ground. Have we finally crashed? Will I be walking when we're done? Oh, my love..."

Cole closes his eyes. Breathing, blood pumping, beating heart. _A human hears what's here, not_ _what's_ _behind the head._

"You're sure?" Varric is asking Adder.

"Look," Adder looks around at her friends, apologetic, "I know this is awkward, but I'd really appreciate it. Save me from a night of sitting and brooding, please?"

"That we can do," says Varric. "Still not as awkward as that game after Aveline's wedding. Hawke, heartbroken, feathers drooping; the captain, green-eyed and firing shots across the bow whenever she could; Daisy, sunny and stupid. 'How do you think Aveline and Donnic are enjoying Orlais, Hawke?'"

_No. His mouth isn't moving. He isn't saying this._

They file into the back room where they can play cards. Varric sits in Sera's usual chair, and Josephine removes the extra chair from the table. Varric deals. Cole likes these cards. The old woman who painted them was worried; she had four grandchildren to care for, a daughter and son-in-law to grieve, and her eyesight was failing. Her eyesight is gone now, her grief dimmed, her grandchildren grown. Cole wants to find her. He'll tell her that her work brought togetherness, respite, joy, even if he never won a game. That will make her happy. She always wondered if anyone ever noticed her cards.

Varric plays the first hand. Usually, Adder goes next, but her gaze is far away. She doesn't come back to the present until Cullen clears his throat.

"My turn?" Adder examines the table. Frowning—she doesn't have anything good, and this time she doesn't try to hide it—she tosses some cards face up on the table then takes a long drink from her mug.

"'Inky,'" she mimics Sera's accent, "'I know I got my own room and my own friends and my own job and sometimes I don't even see you all day—just stop smotherin' me, will ya?'"

Cole blinks. Her pain's lessening a bit. _Burn the wound so it seals over._

Varric chuckles. "Adder, I'm surprised at this failure of voice. You know she'd swear more."

That makes some people chuckle.

"Don't forget throwing things," Dorian says.

Suddenly, Cole is where Adder was: in Sera's room, ducking something Sera threw. Cold spread beneath Adder's skin even as she laughed it off. _She's scared of the Fade_ , Adder thought _. Perfectly understandable._

Cole finds himself humming loudly, biting down hard on his tongue. Since he starting trying to keep people's thoughts to himself, his tongue always hurts.

Adder is watching him, intent as a diving hawk. "Of course, you know exactly why she's so upset, don't you, Cole?"

"I do. But...you said I shouldn't—"

"Inquisitor," Cassandra says, disapproving and disappointed.

"Oh, fine." Adder grimaces in embarrassment. "Forget I said anything."

Cole touches his fingers to his forehead. "Forget." He pauses. "It didn't work."

Everyone at the table glances at each other. Then Varric ventures, "Kid...was that a joke?"

"It was. I can't make myself forget. Not even thingsthat hurt a lot, like Solas leaving or the mages I killed."

Another pause—he's said something people don't want to hear, again—before Varric grins. "That's a damn good start, kid."

Everyone starts congratulating him. Cassandra hopes Cole won't adopt Varric's sense of humour. Josephine wonders if she can get him to stop lurking and scaring the guests. Cullen hopes this will put an end to notes about Uldred and lyrium. Blackwall buys him a drink, forgetting that he doesn't need to eat. Even Adder, who hurts so much, smiles and squeezes his arm.

 _Being human is good._ _Stay here. Stay human._


	2. The Tempestuousness of Taverns

Sera took a dark brown horse. It's still too fancy for regular people, but at least it's a horse.

Blackwall had the same idea. He's riding a cream-coloured horse with a pale mane. He also seems to think he's travelling with her.

"Piss off, Beardy." Stupid inn. They obviously told him about the blonde elf that devoured sixteen tarts for breakfast.

"I told you, Sera, it's Inquisition business." He babbled on about a contract with some armourer in Redcliffe when he first approached her, even showed her a scroll with the Inquisition seal, like that mattered. "The Ambassador's orders."

Teasing him about his crush makes him huffy. If she makes him huffy enough, he'll leave. "You shagged her yet?"

"She's not that sort of girl," he answers easily. _Or he was expecting it._

"Bet she would be. For you. True love and all that rot."

"Not with me off to the Wardens. There's no future there."

Sera hates thinking about that. It doesn't matter that he's told her he'll ask to be transferred back to the Inquisition once he's a Grey Warden, how sure he is Weisshaupt will listen because of what they owe the Inquisition. She's heard Wardens talking: the Joining can kill you. The thought makes her stomach feel as empty as if she hadn't eaten all those tarts.

"Fine," Sera grumbles. At least he's not wearing any Inquisition-type armour. "You can stay. She mad at me?"

"Concerned, I think. Not angry."

"Stupid of her."

"It's what any person would feel when someone they love is putting themselves at risk and all they can do is wait."

_Ouch. Bastard._

She has to admit, the road is nicer with Blackwall than without. They don't talk about fights in front of entire taverns. The closest he gets is asking what job they're doing. When Sera says "Never said it was a Jenny job—you lot just assumed," all he replies is, "Well, I'm off to Weisshaupt at the end of the month, so I have to be back by the twenty-ninth."

They talk about important stuff: jobs they've done, fights they've won, places they've been and the mad things people do there. Sera steals a pack of cards and they have nightly games. He never asks where she finds the odds and ends she does, and Sera keeps any heists she pulls far away from him. Not that she steals a lot. They travel cheap. True, they stay in inns and taverns, but they sleep in the common bedrooms—stacked with straw-filled beds one on top of the other, where you have to watch your stuff or it gets stolen—and they only eat what's bubbling in the stew-pot, not off the menu. Sera has more money than she knows what to do with.

Two days out from the Hinterlands, Sera splurges on private rooms for both of them. She orders a bath only to un-order it minute later. Adder got her into the habit of long baths. They're easy to come by at Skyhold, with its fancy tubs covered in runes that can heat water up and keep it warm for hours. Warm water's a lot more work out in the real world. Sera's pretty sure she's gone years without washing more than her face, hands, bottom and bits.

She's been trying to figure out what to say to Adder. Glumly, she pulls last night's attempt from her journal: sketches of squirrels hopping through mounds of snow. _Brilliant, brain._ She tosses her journal aside with a huff.

But Sera didn't rent a private room so she could feel like shite. She slips out of her clothes and lies down on the bed. She teases her tits, but stops after a few moments. Adder's thing, again. She spreads her legs and gets to work.

It's brilliant, riding a wave that she controls. No words, gestures, demonstrations, hoping someone else is panting for the same trick she is. She pinches her bud hard, making her breath catch. Pain tendrils through her pleasure.

Adder would die of blushing before she ever got this rough. Sure, she'd take Sera in front of all Skyhold, but she'd take her with sweet kisses and caresses. So twee and precious. Sometimes Sera wants slaps.

_Like me and Breanth after that brawl. My lip stung but, fuck, it was good…._ She yanks her own hair, then starts to twist her ears. _Frigging Brea. "Oh, us elves_ _and_ _our sensitive ears." Like no human ever got squirmy when you breathe hot or lick circles. Qunari frigging do. But no, not for Brea. Elf, elf, el_ _f_ _—_

Sighing, Sera brings both hands between her legs. The main course. Then her mind whispers _Cass would understand about a good fight_ , and she groans in dismay.

_Ugh! She's like my sister. I mean, a hot sister. Who doesn't wear underpants. And who roars when she fights. Heh. Wonder where else she roars._

Sera hesitates. _Sod it all._ _M_ _y brain, my rules._

_Cole will probably tell her. Shite._

Sera breathes deeply then starts stroking. Just her, running a trail she knows well, pulse throbbing, heart hammering, sweat dripping—and then the leap. Like falling into a warm, bright lake that washes the real world away. She bobs to the surface, grinning, licking sweat from her upper lip.

She goes a few more rounds. Sometimes she thinks of Adder, sometimes other people. Stops when she gets achey.

_Coulda used the bath. I'm all drippy now._ She licks at her fingers, giggling, warm and wrung out and relaxed. Her gaze falls on her journal and the letter she's been trying to write. It doesn't seem so terrible now.

_Maybe those sketches are exactly what I should be doing._ She snags her underpants, then flips to a blank page in her journal and gets to work.

* * *

 

They go off the road when they hit the Hinterlands proper. Blackwall brought his tent, just in case, and they use it now. Sera finds a Red Jenny cache: 25 coins and two daggers. Would've been riches, once upon a time. Now she'll donate the money and sell the daggers when she hits Redcliffe—whenever that is.

The second night into their walkabout, Blackwall awakens Sera with a shout. She springs up, swinging her quiver onto her shoulder and grabbing her bow.

There's four warriors around Blackwall. "Turnip brigade!" Sera shouts, leaping backward and firing three arrows at once into the wall of armour.

The grunts and scream of pain cover up any funnier reaction they might have had. _Next time, shout stupid shite when I can see my enemies' faces._

A horse whinnies. Something hard wraps around her leg. Before she can think, she's being yanked backward, toward the horses, and she falls. Moonlight gleams on the metal chain pulled by a thin human, catches on the dagger he holds in his left hand. He's near the horses, who are nickering, tossing their heads—the bandits sent someone to cut the horses loose.

She makes herself drop her bow and shout in fear even as her hand slips to her belt. She tosses the sleep-powder bomb at him, but something must have given her away—he lunges to the side before the bomb hits. Thank Andraste, he drops the chain. Sera tumbles backward, grabs her bow and nocks an arrow.

There's no one there. She spins behind her, sees only shadows, and shoots an explosive arrow. It hits a tree—but illuminates a glint of armour to her left when it lands. _Got you, shit-bag._ Her next shot produces a short squawk of pain, but her second nothing. Her next explosive arrows shows only trees and snow.

She's seen Adder and Cole work often enough: dagger-types strike from the side or the back. That's where her attention goes. So she's surprised when she hears snow crunch directly in front of her.

She's less surprised when the chain she never bothered to unwrap from her leg makes her tumble. She turns her fall into a roll this time, giving her enough space to nock, draw and loose even as he closes in, dagger raised. Sera had no time to aim—the arrow she meant to send through his head hits his armoured shoulder, but it's enough that his dagger stabs harmlessly into dragon-scale armour instead of any weak spots.

Another leap, three more arrows, and the fucker falls with a hoarse shout of pain. Sera takes a moment to unwrap the chain from her leg before turning back to Blackwall.

One bandit has fallen, and the other three are giving him wide berth. Sera runs toward him, shouting "HYAAAA!" and leaps onto Blackwall's shoulders.

"What—?" Blackwall shouts, freezing. It takes her no time to find her footing, not on armour she's looked at for a year and some. Her heart is pounding—it takes four beats to nock, draw and fire at the bandits behind Blackwall.

One goes for Blackwall's front, forcing him to raise his shield. Sera compensates, rides the movement, keeps firing at the two behind him. The sword clangs against steel and she can feel the reverberation through her right foot.

Her arrow takes a bandit through the eye. He stays upright for a moment more before he collapses.

"Back! Back!" the other bandit shouts. The one engaging Blackwall falls back and the two of them are running.

Sera finds that she's giggling. "Well, that was fun, eh? Remember those days? No Red Templars, no Venatori... Just mad mages, regular templars and these puss-pricks." She leaps down off of Blackwall's shoulders.

"Sera...Maker's balls, don't do that again!"

"What?"

"What if you'd fallen off? You could've hurt yourself in a thousand ways!"

"But I didn't. So, all good, innit?"

There's a whimper from behind her, soft and wretched. _Oh, yeah. Hook bloke._ "Got one back there."

"I've some rope in my pack. We can turn him in to the Redcliffe guard in the morning."

"Rope? Whatcha got rope for?"

"It's a useful thing for a wanderer to have. I ever tell you about the time rope saved my life from a stampeding druffalo?"

"You haven't, 'cuz that story never happened."

"I swear on my mother's grave! Andraste strike me down if I lie."

"Pssh―if she struck down liars, I'da been dead the day I learned to talk."

They tie the bandit up, remove his daggers and hook, de-arrow him, and have him down a potion. The bandit gasps as his wounds begin to knit shut.

"That magic?" the bandit says, voice somewhere between awed and terrified.

Anger flares sharp and strong in her chest. "Shut it." Sera's stopped thinking of potions as magic, but of course they are. Now she remembers weeks of stress after she quaffed her first one, the persistent fear of what she'd let into her body and how it might warp her. These days, she downs them without thinking. Does her body even remember how to heal the proper, natural way anymore?

She turns to Blackwall. "Right—what about your stupid story?"

Blackwall glances between her and the bandit, then says, "It was...oh, ten years ago now? I was travelling around Honnleath..."

* * *

 

She has the Fade nightmare again and wakes up pissed at Adder for not being within easy shagging distance. After a moment, she transfers her pissed off-ness to herself for leaving Adder in the first place. It doesn't help that their bandit is in the tent, and the bastard snores like a dragon.

When dawn breaks, she kicks the bandit in the chest to wake him up. The clang of her armoured foot on his armoured chestplate is satisfying. "Get up."

From his looks, last night's sleep was the best he's had in a while. His acorn-brown face is striped with frown and worry lines, with darker brown circles beneath is eyes, and his hair is receding. The armour is scavenged from a few different suits: one shoulder is silver, the other bronze, and his left glove is black steel worked with spikes at the knuckles, the finest piece he has on him.

Outside, early-morning light reveals a shallow grave and the two dead men beside it. _Going all out, aren't we?_ Shouldn't it be Redcliffe's job to bury bandit bodies? Blackwall took their helmets off. He looks at the bandit, somber as a judge.

"Did they have any family?"

The bandit blinks a few times. "Four-finger Tom has a sister in Denerim. I wouldn't know where to find her. Glass Johnny I didn't know well."

"Any words you'd like to say?"

"Only...they weren't bad men, sir. Just men in a tight spot. We lost everything when the mages and templars went mad."

Blackwall frowns. "The Inquisition is helping refugees."

"Can't build a life on rough blankets and two bowls of gruel a day." He sounds tired to his bones, poor sod.

Pathetic as he sounds, though, he's still a liar. Adder wants to turn the Hinterlands from a symbol of the mage-templar war to a symbol of hope. She's been shovelling mountains of coin into the place. She sent proper blankets to the refugees long before winter hit. She even sent fruit from Skyhold's bloody garden. _Arse._

When the bandit falls silent, Blackwall rolls the bodies into the grave.

As he kicks dirt over them, the bandit glances at Sera. So only she can hear, he mutters, "Redcliffe'll see me hang by noon. My name's Ardley Hambledon. I got a lover, Walthur, an' we've got two kids. One of 'em is an elf, like you. An orphan from the war. We took him in."

_Everyone knows we elves only care about other elves._ "You got a sick, two-legged old dog, too? And every day you chew the toothless bugger's meat for him and shove it down his throat, and you do it because you're that bloody kind? So you got people. We all have. If you got people but treat other people who aren't your people like shit, you're shitty people. Fact."

She doesn't like his arguments, but she can't fault him for making them. If it were her in this situation....

But it's not. _Coulda just nicked the horses or our stuff. Didn't. Had to go for our lives, too. Prick._

Before they mount up, Ardley looks at Blackwall. "I've a lover's knot in my purse. If you're passing by the Inquisition's Dusklight camp, I'd be grateful if you could you give it to Walthur Briggs." He shrugs, resigned. "For what a dead man's gratitude is worth."

It takes Sera a moment to remember that most of the Inquisition camps have become refugee camps. People saw the Inquisition banner and flocked to it. Blackwall nods and steps in close to Ardley. Sera tenses—now would be perfect for Ardley to twist out of his ropes, knee Blackwall in the face and try to make his escape. That doesn't happen. Blackwall removes the purse at Ardley's waist with no fuss.

There's indeed a lover's knot inside. Wool, pumpkin orange. Ardley's story becomes a bit truer. A lover's knot made of silk fetches coin, but wool is for little people, and orange dye comes from onion skins, which anyone can get.

Sera feels like shite, which is stupid. If he'd come at her with his daggers, he'd be dead, like any other sod who tried. It's just weird stringing the death out for so long.

Blackwall looks at the lover's knot all Thom Rainier–face: broody and frowny and hurty.

_Oh no._ "Beardy…."

With a loud sigh, Blackwall turns Ardley around and starts untying the knots binding his hands.

Ardley's mouth opens and closes a few times. Then he chokes out, "Thank you! Maker bless you—"

"Beardy!"

Once Ardley's arms are free, Blackwall starts removing Ardley's back-plate.

Licking his lips, Ardley says, "There's—there's bears in these woods, sir…." His voice fades with every word.

Blackwall claps him on the shoulder. "Best run fast if you see any, then. Not being weighed down should help."

"'Course, sir," Ardley mumbles and begins undoing his gauntlets.

Sera searches his belt and purse for anything else. She comes up with a smoke bomb with a cracked casing leaking grey powder and tosses it into the snow, making it useless.

"He'll be back with his mates by sundown," Sera notes.

"I won't," Ardley says—too quick, too light. Sera's no Iron Bull, but she knows he's lying. "I'm a changed man, on the straight on narrow road to the Maker's side, good sir."

"We already know he's a liar. All that rot about blankets and gruel."

"I am not," the bandit grumbles, and Sera has to admit he's good. Unlike his quick turn to the Maker's light, this she almost believes. "Stop by Dusklight and you'll see the truth."

It's harder to see the lying bandit once Ardley removes the last of his armour. He stares down at it, not with the longing Sera expects, but like it's unfamiliar, like he doesn't know how it got on him in the first place. The wind blows harsh, and he shivers, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Blackwall hands him some hardtack along with the lover's knot.

The bandit stares at the knot, bright like a sunrise in his weathered hand, and smiles. Bastard looks just like a regular person when he does it, too. He tucks it into his purse. "Our Lady watch over you, sir." Sincere, this time.

"And you."

Ardley isn't one for long goodbyes. Within a heartbeat, he's off, ripping into the hardtack like a hungry wolf (and thanks to all the sodding nature over the past year, Sera unfortunately knows what that looks like).

Sera says, "Probably collects lover's knots from all the people he's killed. Like trophies."

"If you think he's so dangerous, he's still in arrow-range."

"Eh, not worth it. You're soft, Beardy. Soft and stupid."

"Probably."

* * *

 

They move on to Redcliffe. Blackwall goes to the armourer to work out some deal for the Inquisition. Sera wanders, looks and listens.

Picks up a book for Adder at a dwarven bookseller. Overhears two fishermen complaining the fish have gotten smaller and thinner since the Blight. Listens to the storyteller tell some brats about the Hero of Ferelden—some rubbish about her finding Andraste's ashes. Almost calls the storyteller out on making shit up. Nicks the coin-purse off one of the merchants; drops most of it in the Chantry poor-box. Stares up at Redcliffe castle, remembers Alexius, wishes she'd shot an arrow in his eye when she had the chance, wonders what sort of evil plot he's plotting because what else do evil gits do all day? Wonders if the woman with two babies strapped to her back noticed that her husband's gaze lingered on the baker's apprentice. Watches two human girls race each other from the Gull and Lantern to the armour shop, back and forth, back and forth; the brunette keeps winning. Buys her a bun and tosses it at her. Smiles at how well she catches it, even surprised; nods as the girl stares at her, mutters thank you and runs off. Sees that bun in the slush on the side of the road later that day. Watches the clouds, small blotches like whiteheads on the sky's pale-blue face.

Nothing for a Red Jenny to do, but now that she's here Sera realizes she doesn't care about that. It's good to just breathe non-Skyhold air and see a non-Skyhold place.

She and Blackwall have dinner and order a room at the Gull and Lantern. Sera keeps her hood up, just in case anyone recognizes her from when she was here ages ago. They're lucky to get a small table to themselves. _Some things are the same everywhere, and taverns are always busy in winter._ A dwarf minstrel plucks the strings on a lute almost as big as she is.

"We should head out to Dusklight," Blackwall says.

"Ugh. Depressing. Why?"

"That bandit seemed pretty sure of himself when he spoke about gruel."

"Why don't you just marry Ardley, you love him so much? Man's a frigging liar. Anybody'll say anything to keep their neck nooseless."

"And now," says the dwarf minstrel, "for a song about our beloved Inquisitor."

_No! Not fair!_ "Bugger it all," Sera hisses, pulling her hood even further over her face. Did someone recognize Sera or Blackwall and tell the minstrel about them?

The dwarf starts playing a quick, jaunty tune.

"With a hole in the sky, the ox did cry,

'I think I'll see a ball,

She scrubbed each horn both night and morn,

For to go to Halamshiral."

The minstrel's not looking at her and Blackwall more than she's looking at anyone else. She smiles her words, bright and bouncy and eager for coin. Breath wooshes from Sera's lungs.

"She was very rude and ate all the food

Then bowed to the hostess

What was in came out in a great big spout,

They're still cleaning the mess."

Sera's giggle catches herself off guard. She leans back in her chair to watch the minstrel better _._ _That's actually sorta how it went. And Adder still pukes on Florianne every day in court. Andraste's ass, those shite jester outfits!_

"She saw a lion and started trying

To comb his bloody mane,

She said 'Your fleas will breed disease,

But a noose can keep them tame.'"

_Deserved worse. Frigging Gaspard._ Sera taps her foot to the beat. It's catchy.

"She said, 'My dear by your pointed ear,

Why you look so fine to me.'

She began to dance, to hop and prance

With the new rabbit marquis."

_Marquis?_ Sera blinks. _Why would I be.... Wait, no, marquise. Briala! She thinks Inky danced with Briala! Oh, brilliant!_

"With a hole in the sky, the ox did sigh,

'Well now I've seen a ball.'"

The dwarf speaks in a deep, dopey voice: "'Nice folks...

but they didn't get my jokes!'"

Back to singing, she belts out: "She said of Halamshiral!

The ox at Halamshiral!"

She finishes the song with long, loud moos. There's scattered applause from the tavern. Sera applauds the loudest.

Blackwall watches her warily. "You...liked the song, did you?"

"Well, sure, why not?" At his surprise, she explains. "What? I'm supposed to be angry because somebody wrote a stupid song about Inky? So what? Worse shit's been said about her. Done, too." She frowns, remembering some mad pricks who killed Qunari because they thought Adder becoming Inquisitor was a Qun plot. "Everyone thinks the ox is serious when she was just having a laugh! Heh. Bet Inky'd like it."

Sera goes up to the singer and drops some silver in her hat. Blackwall follows.

"Thank you kindly," the minstrel says. "Lilting Leanne, at your service." She glances between her and Blackwall. "Is there any other song you'd prefer? A love ballad, perhaps?"

"What? Me and...oh!" Sera pretends to vomit.

"We're not together, is what my friend means," Blackwall says. "If I might offer a suggestion?"

"Of course."

"It's the Marquise of the Dales, not the Marquis. Marquis turns her into a he."

"Does it? I had no idea." It doesn't sound like Leanne cares particularly much, and why should she? It's Blackwall and Sera that are the weirdies who've been travelling all around Thedas and know that kind of rubbish. Leanne probably hasn't been farther than two towns away.

"It'd get you no coin if you played that song in any tavern in Orlais. Never know where you'll end up, right?"

Leanne's forehead scrunches up as she thinks. "I'll have to—"

"Weak in the knees," Sera says.

Startled, the minstrel mouths the words a few times, then breaks into a grin. "That works! Do you study a musician's trade, perchance?" She takes a journal, reed quill and ink from a pouch at her waist and scribbles that down.

"What, me? Pffbbt. It just fit, y'know? You got any other songs about the ox?"

Leanne hesitates, glancing around, before saying, "I've the start of one, actually." She plucks out a simple tune.

"Where has Haven gone?

I swear I left it here.

Perhaps to keep it safe,

I should not have drunk that beer.

I should not have danced near the fire,

'Til my tail caught alight.

And when I noticed,

I should not have farted in my fright!

Oh, a dwarf burnt up and a house burnt down,

But that's not enough to destroy a town.

A town, town, oh Haven's down,

Why is Haven down?"

Sera snickers. "Farts fire! Brilliant!" Reaction in the pub is more mixed; an old man snorts and shakes his head, while the bar-man chuckles.

Blackwall's no fan. "What happened at Haven was a tragedy."

Leanne's braced herself for his reaction. She fires back immediately with, "Of course it was. And the Inquisitor was responsible."

"The Inquisitor couldn't have known that a dragon was going to attack Haven."

"Were you there? All I know is the Inquisitor was, and now Haven's gone. The ox thinks she can just do whatever she likes, but she can't. That's not how things work. She let the mages that threw our own arl out of his home take over Skyhold!" Glancing at the sword at Blackwall's waist, she says, "Not everyone can fight with swords. Some fight with notes and chords—" she interrupts herself, then scribbles _swords—chords?_ into her open notebook. "And people remember what makes them laugh. If I can show the Inquisitor's feet of clay, I'll do it. She thinks she rules the world, but she doesn't rule our hearts."

Adder doesn't give a toss about ruling anyone's heart. She's the first to say people should believe what they want. Instead of saying any of that, Sera giggles. "She should try to piss on the fire next!"

"Oh, that is good." Leanne scribbles _piss—wish?_ _h_ _iss?_ _p_ _riss?_ in her notebook.

Blackwall nods. "Well, can't say I care much for that last song, but that's one man's opinion, and I'm no artist. Might I buy you a drink? Singing's thirsty work."

"Thank you," Leanne says absentmindedly, humming the Haven song's tune.

As Blackwall stands, he whispers, "Distraction once I get her drink," into Sera's ear.

Sera doesn't know why, but she doesn't care. Blackwall asked and that's what he'll get.

After he grabs a mug of beer, she begins tossing her fire-flask back and forth in her hand, pretending to think up more song lyrics.

"Ooo, how about—" she begins, then makes the flask slip out of her hand.

Fire erupts on the floor below Sera's chair.

"Shite!" Sera blurts out, leaping to her feet. Leanne is stunned; Sera has to drag her up and away from the flames, thrusting her behind Sera. "Hold on, I got this!"

She throws a flask of lightning next as the screams start. People start running for the door, the sober winning the race while the drunks stumble.

She finally snatches up a flask of ice and smashes it. The flames frost over, creating nothing more dangerous than a puddle.

There's a moment of silence, a few confused murmurs, and then the shouting starts.

"You bloody knife-ear!" snaps the bar-tender. "Get out!"

"Move it, bitch!" says one of the bar-girls, a rolling pin in hand.

Sera is startled, which startles her. This is how she should be treated when she messes up. This is how any other person would be treated. An elf, especially. This is what she wanted all along. Just to be Sera.

She bolts outside, slamming the door behind her, and laughs. She can't even feel the cold.

"Sera?" It's Blackwall, around the side of the tavern, holding Leanne's frothy mug of ale. "What happened?"

"I got kicked out." She can't stop grinning.

"What? Why?"

"Dropped my fire flask as your distraction." She bounces on her heels, wanting to dance.

"Maker's arse, Sera! I meant start singing a song yourself or a belching contest or something!"

"Pity I couldn't read your mind, innit?"

With a sigh, Blackwall pours the ale out of the cup.

"What were you up to, anyway?" Sera asks.

"Well...let's just say her ale would've been a bit warmer than usual…."

Sera stares at him, then howls in laughter. She hugs him, quick and tight, to bleed off some of the energy whipping through her. "Makes up for Ardley by a mile! Frig! All right—we're still friends."

"Not one of my finest moments," Blackwall says, eyeing the cup guiltily. "I'll go in and smooth this—"

"No!" She grabs him by the shoulders. "No. Things are brilliant. This is...this is…." She tosses her head with a huff. _Stupid words._ "Argh, it's good, all right?"

Blackwalls looks down at her thoughtfully. "So...all you needed was to be thrown out of a tavern?"

"I guess." She holds up a hand to stop the 'Sera, you're mad,' or the 'Sera, explain,' that always follow. "Sometimes I need to do things to know what I'm doing, all right?"

She's surprised when she gets just a nod in return. "Then...I'm glad." There's gotta be 'Still dunno what you're on about,' flashing about his brain, but it's not in his voice, and right now that means everything.

"I can at least pay for damages," Blackwall says.

_Oh, right. That's a thing people do._ "I'll set up the tent." Even a night on cold, hard ground doesn't bother her.

She runs to the Gull and Lantern's stables, cold air burning in her lungs, the stars winking overhead. She thinks of those little girls from earlier that day, running just for a laugh, and thinks how she was like them once and she still can be and how amazing that is.

* * *

 

At Blackwall's insistence, they stop by the Dusklight camp, though it takes them out of their way. She's sorry for Blackwall, who's gonna realize he got conned, but she's happy that she bet him ten sovereigns that Ardley's shanking passersby for coin by now.

They smell the latrines first, then the cooking fires. Four large tents are set up. Sera figures they can hold twenty refugees if they're crammed in tight enough. A smaller Inquisition tent rests in the centre, the hairy eyeball flying proud. Two soldiers stand at attention by the entrance, fully armoured, and many others are patrolling the outskirts. Seeing her and Blackwall, two soldiers walk over to investigate.

Blackwall pulls another letter with the official Inquisition seal out of his pack. "I'm making a tour of the camps for the Inquisition."

The soldier doesn't read the letter, or he'd find it full of greetings to an armourer in Redcliffe. "Sister Kennedy would be happy to speak with you at your convenience, sir."

"Could one of you take our horses?" Blackwall asks.

The soldiers glance at Sera, surprised, before one moves to take the reins. It takes Sera a second to figure out why. _They're wondering why the elf servant isn't taking care of the horses._ Nobody sees an elf and automatically thinks "servant" at Skyhold. One good thing about it.

The guard takes their horses and they walk about the camp. Raucous, hacking coughs come from the tent farthest on the left. In another tent, two babies are having a contest to see who can cry louder. A harried man leaves that tent, jiggling a shrieking bundle in his arms. The bastard just keeps wailing. Frigging kids.

Ardley Hambledon follows the harried man out, as does a little human girl with a ratty blanket draped about her like wings.

"Ball-shite!" Sera curses.

"I forget...how many sovereigns did we bet, again?" asks Blackwall, all innocence.

"Mother-punching cock-twat!"

Seems she was louder than the sprog; Ardley and the man glance at them. Ardley blinks, mutters something to the man and bows low. Walter or Walden or whatever bows as well. The little girl doesn't give a squirt, just flaps her blanket wings and roars.

"Good day, Ardley, Walthur," Blackwall says cheerfully. "Just stopped by to see how you were doing."

"Grateful every day for your mercy, good sir," says Ardley.

"Even now?" Walthur jokes before cooing at the wriggling brat.

Ardley even laughs rough and haggard. Walthur's like a stallion next to a nag—dark, unlined skin, trimmed beard, hair in long locks going past his shoulders. Doesn't look like a man used to hard living and cold winters. A merchant before the war, maybe? Sera thinks about Dorian and Bull and how different they are. _Love's weird, innit?_

Now that she's looking more closely at them, Sera feels like she's seen them before, but she can't place where.

Walthur turns from the brat to Blackwall, smile dropping. "I can't think of how to thank you. Words don't seem enough, but they're all we have."

Suddenly, there's a little girl breathing heavily on Blackwall's leg. "Fire!" she says. "Woosh! Fire! Raaaargh!"

"They're enough," Blackwall says, but his gaze is on the girl. "Beg pardon, but are those your only blankets?"

"Yes," Ardley says, confused.

Sera catches on: those blankets are too thin and ragged to be anything the Inquisition sent. And why would refugees expect anything better? To them, a patch of shelter and gruel is the best they can hope for. Now she figures out where she's seen them, or people like them—during the Blight.

_N_ _ot right,_ _that_ _._ Her gaze goes to the Inquisition tent. Someone's in charge who shouldn't be.

Blackwall exchanges a few more pleasantries and they're off to the Inquisition tent.

"'Course—send a river of coin anyplace, someone's gonna dip their cups in," Sera grumbles. "We should stay the night. Gimme time to poke around."

"Would be nice if you found an accounts book entitled 'Show to the Inquisitor's People' and a second one called 'Never, Ever Show to the Inquisitor's People,' but I doubt we'll be that lucky."

"Aw, that'd be grand, wouldn't it?"

Sister Kennedy is a steel-haired woman with pale blue eyes. Sera tries to pretend she's Iron Bull as Blackwall questions her. He talks half-bored, like he's been visiting camps for weeks on end and this is his last stop. His attitude makes her cheeks flush and her voice rise as she all-but demands better supplies for her people, or at least more soldiers to guard against bandits. She seems like she means it, too.

Since it's only a few hours from nightfall, Sister Kennedy says they should "enjoy what meagre comforts we have." The Sister and the guards eat from the same food as the refugees—their supper is watery gruel and a thin slice of black bread. As night falls, Blackwall whittles something while Sera pretends to write in her journal but really watches Sister Kennedy go through her accounts. The Sister prays to a small idol of Andraste before bed.

It's easy as breathing to wait until everyone's asleep and poke around. Blackwall's right: there's no cooked books, no drawer with a false bottom hiding sacks of dirty coin. The only thing Sister Kennedy has worth hiding is some lacy red underpants.

Sera takes an entire page in her journal to write _Find out who supplies Dusklight_ in large letters. Why should Leliana's people have all the fun?

Ardley and the fam come to say goodbye to them before they leave the next day. The little girl runs up to Blackwall, who presents her with the wooden knight he made last night. She tries to gnaw its head off. Ardley scoops her up with a "Say goodbye and thank you like a big girl, Bessie." Bess drops the toy in favour of tugging Blackwall's beard and biting his nose.

Walthur, holding the baby that's now merely whimpering instead of shrieking, chooses that moment ask Sera, "Don't suppose you know anything about elflings?"

Sera snorts and rolls her eyes. That's how she catches Ardley's hand on Blackwall's coin-purse while Beardy's still chuckling away at Bess. Ard's got good technique: smooth, quick, without even the clink of coin as he slips it up his sleeve. This is the first hint of teeth she's seen from the nag since the attack, and it impresses.

Walthur doesn't seem to notice. He's embarrassed, not worried, when he says, "My apologies. He's just so fussy. I suppose I hoped…. Well, no matter."

"Give 'em some brandy. Shuts 'em right up."

Walthur chuckles, like she was joking. When she frowns at him, he coughs. "Ah, right. Thank you."

Sera follows Blackwall to the horses, then turns back like she just remembered something. "Oi! Ard!"

Ardley meets her halfway, Bess in hand. Just the three of them, now. The sleeve where he stuffed the coin-purse is half-hidden behind Bess so Sera won't notice the bulge. "Mm?"

"You ever want to be more than some forest-stinking murderer or small-time purse-snatch, find me at Skyhold, yeah?"

"As I told ser Blackwall, I've changed—"

"I bet Beardy ten sovereigns you wouldn't be here. I could pay him right now, 'fore we leave."

She watches Ardley's face go grey. With a muttered, "Shit," he shifts Bess's weight to one arm, then begins to drop the arm holding the coin-purse.

Sera grabs his wrist and stops him. "Like I said. Stop by. Ask for Red Jenny. There's not always coin in it, but usually."

Bess giggles. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"Too true, sweetie plum," Sera says, ruffling her hair. "Enjoy the donation, Ard."

With that, she leaves. _Well, that offer was either stupid or brilliant. Have to see, I s'pose._

* * *

 

Adder got a letter from Sera. Cole heard it as she read it.

_Here's what_ _made me think of you today_ , Sera wrote. Pages of sketches follow: A tree with Adder's face hiding in the lines of bark. A rabbit with jagged little ears like Adder's horn buds. Adder's vagina in the way two tree branches curve together. Eighteen sketches in all, chronicling everything from breakfast to sleep.

_Didn't leave because of anything you did, just needed to get away, sorry for being a twat._ Sera illustrated this by drawing herself with a vagina for a head.

_I'll ride you til I break you when I get back._

_Love you._

_S._

Adder wrote a quick reply: _Saddled up and ready, love._ She sketched a complicated thing of leather straps, metal buckles and lacquered wood she or Sera can put between their legs to make it look like they have a penis. They call it a toy, which confuses Cole; toys are rocking horses or wheeled ducks on strings to most people. He knows not to talk about things people do together unclothed, so it's one of those mysteries he'll have to figure out on his own.

The letter from Sera isn't what has Adder pacing the battlements after midnight. Cole joins her. He makes his steps loud and obvious. He's learned that he walks quietly out of habit; people have told him not to sneak up on them when he never meant to.

Adder, leaning against the battlements, smiles slightly at him, then blinks as her gaze falls to his hands. Cole realizes he's still holding the flowers. "Hey, Cole. Those for me?"

"One of the scullery maids lost her husband at Haven. She felt so sad today because she realized she was forgetting him. He brought her these flowers when he courted her. I was going to put them on her pillow, so she could smell them while she slept and her dreams would be happy."

Adder gently says, "She'd probably be scared that someone snuck into her room while she was sleeping. Maybe leave them outside her door."

Cole hadn't thought of that. "Oh, thank you." He tucks the flowers into his belt. "And you should talk to Sera about why you don't like her yelling."

She laughs, but he hears the hollowness. "My problem is not enough people yell at me. The day my lover or my friends can't will be the day I quit the Inquisition." Kindness cocoons her voice as she says, "Sera's outburst startled me for a moment, that's all."

Adder wants so hard to believe that. She fills her mind with this belief so that's all he hears. It might be kinder to walk away, to forget he's ever heard anything else.... Cole breathes deeply.

"You don't want me to worry. You especially don't want her to worry. You'll be the hero for her, where there's laughter and light instead of caution and carefulness. But she would be your hero, too, if you asked it."

"I don't—" She feels as she does when her hands go to her daggers, but swallows the tension down. "You of all people know you don't change Sera. Too many have tried. It's part of why she snaps and can't calm down, sometimes." There's the shadow on the edge of her thoughts—another person who couldn't calm down.

"It's not forcing if you just ask. She would fly for you. She would perform magic." He isn't violating Sera's mind. Adder knows this. All Skyhold knows this.

Adder looks away from him, frowning, and Cole realizes he's misstepped. She stares out at the castle she dreams so often of leaving, at all the people she has to lead that she never wanted to. She will never ask anything of Sera, not even what she needs to ask.

Her mantra sounds so clearly. "This will pass. This will pass. Just breathe deep and this will pass." He feels the slide into red-tinged memory. "Rage roiling, anger aching. My hand catches Karaas across the cheek. The slap sounds like thunder, like justice—I've told him, over and over, don't touch my stuff. Spoiled fucking brat. Then he cries, and I realize I'm my mother's daughter. I do what she did until she stopped caring and everything that went wrong became our fault: Hold him. Apologize. Say I'll never hurt him again. But that's a lie. Same as it is with her."

She half turns to Cole. "I was a whore, too, if we're talking about my favourite memories." Her smile is the snap of an injured dog.

"I'm sorry." He grimaces. "I didn't know I was speaking. Sometimes I forget when it's late." At least there isn't anyone else here, like there was last time.

"I know."

"That girl is you, Adder. You should listen to all of you. Then you can love Sera without the ice that shoots down your spine when she shouts. That's how things should be, isn't it?"

She's leaning heavily against the battlements as if she doesn't trust herself to stand. "I am not her." The words are sharp and taste of blood.

He looks, this time, not at the pain, but at the growth surrounding the pain. "It doesn't diminish you that hurts still hurt, even years later. Adder, why would you think that?"

"I…." She can't find an answer. She swallows, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. "This is why I need Sera around—look at how mopey I get when she's not." Making a joke out of what's true.

"People do bad things when they're scared. You took your mistake and used it to make you a better person...but even if you never did so, you are still allowed to ache." A thought makes him pause. He shared this incident unwillingly once. Rhys and Evangeline understood. They were kind. Adder will be, too.

"The real Cole was scared of his father. There was a lot of shouting in his house, too. Cole hurt his little sister, Bunny. He hid in the cupboard to get away from his father. He held Bunny tight to keep her quiet, so his father wouldn't hurt her like he hurt their mother." He looks at his hands, flexes them, feeling an echo of Cole's shame. "He held her too tight."

"Oh, Cole," she says, more sigh than word. Then she's hugging him so hard she knocks the hat off his head. It's different than hugging Rhys: she's so much taller than him, and her chest is squishy. He wishes that Evangeline was hugging him, but lets the wish pass, fade like a wisp into nothingness.

He wants to tell her it doesn't hurt much. It feels like a dream that happened to another person. But he doesn't say that. The hug is nice. Her arms are strong around him. He puts his head against her chest and she strokes his hair.

This is what she needs. _You're not alone, Adder._ Cole knows that. He hears pain every day. But even without voices in the head, it shouldn't be so easy to forget, to feel lost and only, to feel lonely. Right?

_People are complicated. Will_ _I ever understand them?_

"My lamb," she murmurs. She's said that before, long ago, to a different person.

"I'm not your brother, Adder. I'm me. Cole."

Her breath steams when she says, "I know. Sorry." She says the words, but her heart doesn't agree; it wants to see a little white-haired boy she can guide and protect because she failed to when she was younger.

The flash comes and words spill out. "The wind lashes the caravan. The tea is strong, bitter, keeping me awake. Of course I drew the short straw—again. Only three more hours until my shift is done." He can't glean more.

"Hmm?"

"Your brother."

Adder pauses. "Karaas?" Flat, without inflection.

Cole nods.

"You heard my brother?"

"I can sense pain that links people." He leans down and scoops up his hat.

"Huh. I thought—" The body of a young boy, rotting by the side of the road, put into a mass grave if he was lucky, bird-picked bones if he wasn't. She swallows the lump growing in her throat. "Do you know where he is?"

Cole tries. "No. I'm sorry. This used to be easier. He's...someplace cold."

"Which is all of southern Thedas, of course." Adder snorts. She scrubs her hands down her face. "This is a 'sometime I feel less shitty' thought," he hears, though he doesn't think she spoke.

"We should get inside," she says to him. "It's freezing up here." She takes off her brown scarf and ties it around his neck. They go to the Herald's Rest and sit in front of the fire, facing each other on stools. Maryden, singing her new song "Fall of the Magister," moves from her usual spot so they don't have to talk over her. She's always so considerate; Cole nods to her in thanks and she smiles back. Cole finds himself smiling, too.

Adder orders some mulled wine for herself and cider for him. She sips her wine. Cole doesn't sip his cider, but he likes the warmth against his fingers and the smell of apples and cinnamon.

"Enough about me, I think." Adder's smile is still sad at the edges. "How've you been, Cole?" A distraction, yes, but she genuinely cares.

"I'm helping people." At her expectant look, he continues. "Since Corypheus died, people have smaller hurts. They didn't have time to think of them before, but now they do. I have to walk around a lot because I can't always hear them. Or," he shrugs, "maybe I'm getting worse."

"Does that bother you?"

"Sometimes."

"People help others every day without being able to read their minds."

"I know. But it will be...harder for me if I can't. Harder than for even a normal person, I think." Cole wants to get good at being human, so he's not the strange boy who stares too long. The Inquisitor's bug-eyed little freak. Always saying weird things. You're lucky he just watches you—it's even worse when he talks to you. A thing. Just wrong.

_Solas said I am myself, and that is good._ _He took my worry and turned it to warmth in my heart._ It would be nice to hear him say it again, though. Cole looks at the drink in his hand and tries to imagine swallowing it, apples and cinnamon and cloves on his tongue, then from tongue to throat to belly, then out in a warm stream. Over and over, again and again, every day.

"There's a boy," Cole continues, "one of the orphans in Skyhold's Shadow. Everyone thinks he's odd. He doesn't look people in the eye. Sometimes the world gets too big and he needs to sway back and forth to calm down. I think I'm a lot like him in some ways. I'm waiting for the kittens in the stables to get a bit bigger. A kitten wouldn't care about swaying. A kitten wouldn't call him names."

"You should pick one out for yourself, as well. You seem like a cat person."

Cole shrugs. "I don't know... What if I get busy and forget about them?"

"You can keep track of an entire castle's worth of people's hurts and pains. I don't think you have to worry about that." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Maker, Cole, you're allowed to want things, too." Her lips don't move, but he hears, "It'll give him something to think about other than Varric going home to Kirkwall, poor little guy..."

Cole inhales and exhales far louder than he needs to. Varric has to leave. He knows this. "I'm not sad about that. Well...not very. Varric has to leave. Skyhold holds the sky, but not his heart. That's chained, bolted, sitting in the back room of a bar far across the sea."

After a moment, he asks, "Do you think a kitten would like a boat journey? We can visit Varric in Kirkwall. You said you wanted to go to the Black Emporium, remember?"

"I remember. And don't worry. Cats are pretty self-sufficient. Just give 'em food and you're fine." A thought strikes. "You know, Rhys and Evangeline are finished their work for us. I could invite them to Skyhold. Would you like that?"

In a note to the Inquisition, Rhys wrote that Cole was a spirit he couldn't help. What will he feel now that Cole isn't just a spirit? "I don't know if that would be a good idea."

"Suit yourself. But I think your friends would be proud of the man you're becoming."

Adder doesn't understand him like Solas does. But she tries. "Thank you. Perhaps you should invite them. I'll think about it."

She's sipping her wine when he hears, "If they aren't, I'll kick their asses." She didn't say it out loud, and she doesn't mean it.

They fall silent, listening to Maryden. Adder can't help but grin at the phrase "darkness never ever rise again." She'd love to live in that world, but doesn't believe she does.

When the song ends, Adder speaks. "Nobody gives us a list on how to be people, Cole. People are a lot more confused about that than you'd think." She looks at him, gaze going warm and soft. "You're kind. You're good. That's a better foundation than most have."

Cole nods. "You should still ask Sera not to shout at you."

Adder blinks.

"You were trying to distract me, Adder. I know your dodges, your feints, your parries. How could I not?"

"Well, thanks for humouring me, at least." She touches his arm as she quietly says, "If there's one thing I'd change, it's how she talks about you."

Cole shrugs. "I made errors unknowingly and now she sees a shadow to strike out at. But I've been staying out of her way lately." He smiles hopefully. "She appreciates it. That's a good start."

"Oh, my lamb," Adder speaks without speaking. "This world is gonna eat him alive."

Cole wonders if she's right.

* * *

 

_**Author's note:** Enjoy this sketch of[ Sera and Blackwall's fight scene](http://steftastan.tumblr.com/post/143084933690/a-quick-sketchy-of-sera-and-blackwall-inspired-by) by the amazing Stef Tastan! Consider [supporting her](https://www.patreon.com/steftastan?ty=h) on Patreon!_


	3. The Persistence of Pinchiness

The pinchy feeling comes back when Sera claps eyes on Skyhold. Not as bad as when she left, but the fuck does that matter? It'll just grow.

_Oh, look. Run away from problem. Come back. Problem still there. Frigging shocking._

_That's the reason I never come back._

Brownie is happy. Sera has to stop him from picking up the pace and galloping home. Prick should know by now they gotta walk him the last bit of the way to cool him off. Blondie prances about until Blackwall steadies her. It's full-blown night when they pull into the stables. The first thing Sera does, so she won't forget, is take out her note to Josephine to find out who supplies the Hinterlands camps. Bryant, one of the stableboys, is happy to run it over. She offers him coin.

"Aw, no, Lady Sera, I couldn't!" he says. Even the little kids are saying Lady Sera now. She stares after him, wanting to scream.

"Fancy a drink?" Blackwall asks.

"Yeah." She looks all the way up at the Inquisitor's room. The lights are on. What's her sweetie doing up so late? _Maybe saddling up._ She got Adder's letter at the last inn before Skyhold. The thought makes her quiver.

But on the way to Adder, there'll be all of Skyhold, with their Lady Sera and their nodding and their eyes that want to skewer her or eat her up.

"Probably shouldn't, though." She starts unsaddling Brownie. "Way I'm feeling, I'll drink too much and be useless as interrogating a Chanter."

"As you will." As he unsaddles Blondie, he looks at her, really and truly. It's a little scary but it's Blackwall so it's nice, too. Like she's been holding a drawn bow this entire time and she can finally relax and put it away. "Sera, take it from an old man: Love is easy. Relationships are hard."

"Pshhh. If you go into 'em thinkin' they're hard, sure." Now for the bit and bridle. Brownie's a weirdie who doesn't always like this part, so she has to watch her hands.

As Blondie submits calmly to him removing the bit, Blackwall goes on like he hasn't heard. "They require compromise. Listening. Patience."

Two can play the 'I'm only talking about what I want to' game. "Where you pick up all this 'old man' wisdom? Stumps and rocks in the woods? Maybe I'll take what you say seriously if you have a relationship _now_ , instead of a 'longing-staring-ship.'"

"Be fair now—I also send flowers."

"Just like a proper _noble_ man."

"Just like a proper _gentle_ man."

They take off the rest of the tack and hang it up. (Horsey-stuff is called tack. Beardy taught her that, years ago.) She runs her hands over Brownie, looking for any cuts or chafing. Fit as a fiddle, her boy. Sera's not one for horses, but she thinks she'll miss this one. _Nothing stopping me from taking him for a ride, is there?_

"Beardy...?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She grabs a pick and starts cleaning Brownie's front hoof. "For...you know."

"You're welcome." Warm and kind. He'd make a great Da, if he ever let himself be one.

They finish up with the horses. Sera turns to go out into the chilly courtyard, but lingers at the doorway. _If I'm going to be just the Inquisitor's lover, might as well do some good with it._ "I could convince her." She doesn't turn back.

"Haven't a clue what you mean, Sera." Blondie starts chomping on something; he must've fed her a bit of carrot.

"Inky. I could make her keep you here. You're good enough as a fake Warden—why do you need to be a real one?"

Blackwall sighs. "Sera...you know why."

"Those Caller kids become ghosts, tell you to go to Witsup? That what friggin' happened?" She turns around and gets in close, uncomfortably close, staring up into his eyes so she can see only their cool blue-grey, not the tightness around them or the frown between them. "Beardy, you need to listen, like, proper listen: you are fine. Better: you're grand. I didn't believe Ardley. You did, and look! We're helping people!"

"Sort of regret helping that prick," Blackwall grumbles, glancing at where his coin-purse used to be.

"Well...yeah, it was stupid." Sera pretended to be just as shocked as he was to see his purse gone. Seems she was successful. "But good stupid. Noble stupid. Look, everyone's got shite that keeps 'em up nights. But everyone don't go off to maybe kill themselves in some stupid blood magic thing. Everyone ain't cowards! Everyone just...they live with it, yeah? Day in, day out. Have a drink or a tumble and move the fuck on."

"Some things you can't outrun." That stands in for everything she's heard before. He committed a crime and hid his guilt, letting his own men pay for it. If he dies in the Joining, it'll be what he deserves; if he survives, he'll be the man he was meant to be.

 _What did I expect? People always leave._ _People don't give a shit about friends._

If she'd been thinking ahead, once Blackwall joined her walkabout, she would've roped him into some madness, something so fun and exhilarating he'd decide this Grey Warden idea was shite. But that's Sera—always doing, never thinking.

"Fuck you." She backs away from him, turns to the door to hide the tears in her eyes. "Just...just fuck you. Prick." She's really swearing at the pain that's washing over her, filling up every part of her. Tears are gushing rivers from her eyes. She swallows, throat all sodden and nose all sniffly.

Crying's worse than anything. That's as good as saying 'Hey, world, make the worst possible shite happen to Blackwall.' If she didn't cry, then she could pretend there was nothing to cry about. Anger just makes her cry harder.

The stupid bastard hugs her. She screams, swears. She has to fight for every word, forcing air into her heaving lungs, making her mouth form words instead of rough, ugly sobs. _Stupid! Not some kid who's never been hurt, am I? Should be stronger._

Blackwall doesn't care that she's not being brave or that she's being mean or anything. Just hugs her tight, rubbing up and down her back, crooning nonsense words. She only catches a few of them. "Sorry," and "Sera," and "dear girl." One phrase in particular smacks her in the face: "A better friend than I deserve."

And she hates him for that, too, for the fact that they mean anything to each other. _I shoulda left long ago._ She knows there are reasons she didn't, but they're too dim and the pain's too real and she can't see past it.

"Not about deserve!" she shrieks, though she's not even sure he can understand her. She can barely understand herself. "Piece of shite fucker! Asshole..."

Sera screams until she's hoarse and cries until her eyeballs feel raw. Then, after an age or two, she gasps a breath and a sob doesn't follow. She gasps another one—deeper, this time. Feels like she got the shit kicked out of her. Blackwall kisses the top of her head, and her breath hitches in her chest. Tears spill, but only two. She looks up at him, wiping tears and snot from her face, and cringes at the hurt in his eyes. Pissed as she is, she doesn't want to see that.

"I wouldn't be the man you know if I didn't go." He's said before he'd go even if Adder hadn't ordered it. Sera always knew that. Just didn't want to really know, to stare it full in the face and tell it "hi."

She reaches up like she's going to touch his cheek—then yanks his beard, hard.

"Ow!"

"Toldja once," she croaks, "beardy people should be jolly or I'll yank it off. So be jolly. Hear me?" She gives his beard another twist then lets go.

"All right, fuzzhead. Go make nice with your lady. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"S'pose. You're still a shit, though."

He lets her go and she steps out into the cold.

* * *

 A nap after her fit seems only right. She wakes up before dawn, groggy and gummy-eyed, but feeling a touch lighter. Sera planned a little something for Adder on the ride back. A bit of a quest, like how they first met way back in wherever.

First, she puts on a pair of red knickers and strokes herself through them. This part should've been easy and fun, but it takes longer than it ever has to shed her mopiness and start enjoying herself. When her knickers are nice and wet, she leaves them on the handle of Adder's bedroom door and places Leliana's owl token within: go to the war table. At the war table, she takes another owl marker, wraps a red ribbon around it so that it looks like a heart, and sets it on Redcliffe. Sera goes to her room in the Herald's Rest―anybody would look there next―and puts some dried embrium petals on her bed, then splashes some ink on one of her pillows: Inky's bed. Then she sneaks back to the castle and waits, hidden in the doorway to the Undercroft, for Adder to leave her room.

She spies Adder as she enters the main hall, moving at a fast pace. She's wearing her boring brown leather armour with the boring brown scarf again. _Who goes from beige to brown? Weirdy._ _'_ _Least it doesn't cover her ass, though_. Adder enters the door to the library—strange, but Sera has no time to think about that.

Now, Sera has to break into her lover's room. As she passes, a few nobles watch her and whisper. Her skin pinches, hard; she grits her teeth and gives them two fingers. One of them gasps, and they all turn away.

Then she has to pick the lock. She leans casually against the door while her hand works furiously behind her back. When Dagna passes by on her way to the Undercroft, Sera waves her over and they start chatting. Dagna's brilliant—she angles herself to hide Sera's hands. She even pretends to help Sera look for something on the floor so Sera can turn around and face the lock as minutes go by.

"You know," Dagna says, "I can run down and get you some acid...."

"I can break any lock in Skyhold! Matter of professional frigging pride." Another broken lock pick makes her curse, then shrug. "Well...not like I'm really a _professional_ , am I? Er, this acid don't explode, yeah? I'm going for subtle."

Dagna glances about the crowded hall full of people, then back to Sera, who didn't bother to disguise herself in any way. Sera readies a 'Shut it,' but Dagna doesn't mention how bad she is at subtle. Instead, the dwarf's gaze goes distant. "I don't know if acid can explode. I should look into that...."

"Dags...."

"Oh, right. Regular acid, coming right up."

The acid eats right through the lock. Dagna looks a little disappointed. After a quick "Thanks—owe you one," Sera darts up to Adder's room.

Books cover the left side of the bed. _Reading. As ever._ _I'll always be her second love._ She rolls her eyes. Adder's side of the bed is still warm. Sera falls onto it and buries her face in the pillow. The Adder smell gets her tingly all over. She almost slides her hand between her legs but stops. _Inky will get me where I need to go._

She's very glad she decided that when Adder steps in not a few moments later, face lighting up to see her. Sera sits up, blinking. "That was fast."

"I thought the owl marker meant go see Leliana," Adder explains. "As I was there, one of her agents mentioned that you were breaking into my room. So I just waited. And waited. And waited…."

Sera chucks a pillow at her. It bounces off her tits and Adder picks it up, chuckling. She then walks to the bed, replaces the pillow and sweeps the books off. Then she's beside Sera, all huge and warm, and the world makes sense again.

Adder slips her scarf off. "We should definitely stage a fight before our last Wicked Grace game with Varric. Everyone felt so sorry for me, I actually won!" There's a bit of a sting, there. Of course, Varric's leaving, too. Back to Kirkwall now that he's got a first draft of his Inquisition book.

Then their lips collide hard, all pressure and tongue, and they squeeze each other tight like they're trying to become one person.

Instead of getting down to business, Adder pulls away, panting. "I missed you so much," she murmurs as she sprawls out on the bed. Sera falls back, lying on Adder's arm, head on Adder's shoulder. Adder's strong arm encircles her, hand resting on her stomach, warm as a sunbeam.

Sera grins. Coming is grand, but she can get that on her own. You need Adder for Adder-cuddles.  _Starting to like the soppy stuff now. Ugh, what's she done to me?_

She reaches up and strokes Adder's horn nubbies, the hard peaks and valleys of scar tissue. Whenever anybody asks why Adder doesn't have horns, Adder spins a different story. They were goat's horns and she got tired of people baaing at her. They looked like a desire demon's, so she cut 'em off so nobody would get confused. She told Sera the truth, though. She was drunk, the only way Adder ever talks about her past. "I cut them off after Ansburg." Every time Sera touches the nubbies, she remembers that moment, that rush of love at Adder's trust.

"How'd the job go?" Adder asks. And though she really means 'Are you okay?', Sera answers the spoken question. She'd have to say 'no' to the unspoken one.

"Got some more sniffing about to do." She explains the situation at Dusklight, watching Adder's face darken. "Once I find out, though, you and me should go out and nab the fuckers! Just as you and me, though. Not the Inquisitor and the Inquisitor's whatever. It'll be fun."

"I'd love to." Adder kisses Sera's nose. "If there's anything I can do to make sure you never leave again, I'll do it." Another kiss. "You need to stay right here."

Sera nips at her neck. "I'd love to, yeah." She sighs. "It's nothing you can help with, Inky. Thanks all the same."

"I can't even try? But look at my references! Teaching Cole to be human, showing Iron Bull he's not Qunari, getting Dorian to give two fingers to his father, getting Josephine out of that assassin's contract…. Not to brag, but I'm pretty amazing."

She's not gonna let it go. "Right. Well, I got Diva fired. That was weird. Who thinks I have that much power? Like, I'm not this thing people think I am."

And Adder laughs. Here's Sera, talking about stupid shite she doesn't even want to, and Adder laughs at her. "I might know a thing or two about that. It's why I keep my friends close. You just have to be yourself, love. The ones that count will see you. The rest? Fuck them."

Anger bursts beneath Sera's skin, so sudden and strong it's scary. _I can't keep my friends close if you keep making 'em leave!_ It was the Inquisitor, sitting on her Inquisition throne, who sentenced Blackwall to join the Grey Wardens. Back then, Sera had been so happy with the judgement. Killing Corificus seemed some airy-fairy dream.

Sera breathes deep, tries to relax. _Don't put his choice on her._

"Everything all right, love?" She can see Adder thinking about the last time she asked and Sera dodged aside. She'll want a real answer this time.

"Didn't seem so easy back then." That's true, even if it's not what she's pissed about this very second.

"Feelings never are." Quick as anything. She's reading lines from a play she's seen before, because she's got it all figured out, and isn't Sera the moron who ran through the Hinterlands in a strop.

"Too clever, you," Sera grumbles.

" _I'm_ annoying _you_? That's a change."

Stupid, but the joke works to make her feel better. The way Adder's fingers start stroking along her inner thigh also helps.

Which leaves Sera to focus on what Adder said about reputations. Seems some pinchiness is going to be the new normal. Just like living in a castle, sleeping in a fine bed, eating regular meals. All changes...but they don't seem as scary now. _Bernie told me that my custard prank was shite. She still sees me. Keep the friends close and leave Skyhold when shite gets weird. Why was that so hard to figure out?_

"Huh. All right. That...sorta helped, actually."

"You're welcome, love." Adder sounds a touch smug. Normally, Sera would get pissed, but she doesn't imagine she'll saying 'talking helped me' a lot, so she'll give Adder a small victory. She's a hard one to stay mad at, too, all big and muscle-y and right beside her.

"So," Adder squeezes her gently, "no more shouting in front of everyone?"

Sera kisses her lips. "Right, 'cuz that was all _my_ fault."

Adder enjoys that for a few moments then pulls away, but not far, close enough that Sera feels her breath on her face when she murmurs, "Er, wasn't it?"

"You just kept pushing."

A huff of laughter. "Other people call that asking questions, crazy."

"'Other people' should know by now what gets what with me." She kisses Adder's chin, then her jaw. "Which you do most-times—especially down there." Adder's muscles go tight against her as her fingers trail down, making their lazy way between her legs.

"'Other people' should take responsibility for their own shitty behaviour."

Sera pulls back to get a look at all of Adder's face, not just the parts she wants to kiss. Adder seems genuinely shocked that she said that. But then her jaw tightens and her eyebrows lower. Sera knows that look. She's felt it on her own face a hundred times. You say something and maybe you didn't mean to, but now you're committed to it. "Wait—we having fun or fighting?"

"Well, um…." Adder's gaze flicks down Sera's body, then her jaw clenches tight again as she pulls away. "So in your letter when you said 'Sorry for being a twat,' you actually meant 'Sorry you were upset by my being a twat.'"

"Is this a thing now? Why is this a thing?" This isn't how it goes. Home is where things are good.

"Because not wanting to have fights in public is a fucking normal response, Sera." Adder gets off the bed, turns to face the door. "I don't know why I have to explain it."

"What, I can kill some noble in front of you and us not even sweeties yet, but this riffles your fur? Loony." She means to say "loony" the loving way she usually does, but the word comes out harsh, ugly.

Sera hops off the bed, hurries around to Adder's side, grabs her arm. "Said I'm sorry, yeah? Meant it. I don't say shite I don't mean. Well, I do, but not to you. Well...I do, but not about us."

"Meant it. Right." Adder isn't even looking at her. Something on her face makes Sera's gut all clenchy: like there's something there that shouldn't be or something missing that should be there.

Anger is easier than trying to figure out what that means. "Oh, frigging sorry I'm not—I'm not—frigging Josie, primped and pretty and quiet and respectful. That's not me, Inky. You _know_ that."

That makes Adder focus on her. The smile lines on her face deepen as she grins. But Sera's clenchy gut doesn't go away. It's her eyes; they're not here. So when Adder draws Sera into a kiss, fingers sweeping through her hair and tongue doing its tricks in Sera's mouth, Sera is stiff and awkward.

It's a kiss that feels like an ending.

Adder pulls back.

"Inky…."

But Adder, who listens patiently to everyone, doesn't. Talks over her, in fact. "You're right, Sera. I know you very well." She steps back, drawing herself up to her full height. "So I'm going to give you some time to think very, very carefully about what to say next. I'll be in the Herald's Rest. Drinking," a soft huff of a chuckle, "naturally."

"But—but—you can't—Inky, I love you!"

"And I love you, too." Doesn't sound like love—she sounds tired and sad. Like Beardy talking about those kids he offed, the one time she actually pried a word or two out of him about that. Adder looks like she's going to say something else but stops herself, then turns and leaves Sera alone in a suddenly much colder room.

 _Same old, same old. "_ _B_ _e normal, Sera."_ _Fuck her. Fuck them. There is nothing wrong with me._

With a shout, Sera starts pacing, slamming each foot down like she was stomping on one of Vivienne's hats. Her hands clench to fists, knuckles white, hands quaking. "Frigging piss-balls shite arse sodding…."

Everywhere she turns, there's a memory of Adder. The desk where Sera seduced her away from some fancy letter she was writing. The floor by the fireplace where Sera first got her thumb up Adder's bunghole and she made that _noise_. The centre of the room on that giant rug, where Sera stood and told her things were good and she felt like they always could be.

Sera pulls up short, breath catching. _Nothing wrong with me...but I do shit things sometimes._ _You don't give up on good because it's not falling in your lap._

She thinks over the conversation again. Shutting her out isn't like Adder. When they argue, Adder sticks close, always trying to explain, no matter how frustrated she gets. The frustration's good, usually—shows Adder she can get pissed and not become the "savage Qunari" that stops her from getting pissed other times. Running's what Sera does. So Adder's got some deep-down, Sera-and-cookies hurt going on.

 _Or Adder-and-Ansburg hurt, maybe._ _My job to fix that. Well, try. Hope it's still my job, anyway._

There's only one way to find out.

* * *

Cole is listening to Irvine, a young dwarf who helps takes care of the orphans in Skyhold's Shadow. His pain is relatively easy: loneliness, needing someone to listen.

"I suppose it's just...hard, lately. What with Pa off trading." Smuggling lyrium is what Irvine means. He's one of Adder's suppliers.

Cole feels a sudden, wrenching throb from Adder, and sucks in a breath. He wants to run to her, to help. But that would mean leaving Irvine. He wavers, torn—then makes himself stay. Irvine is just as deserving of help as the Inquisitor.

Already, the sharpness of Irvine's ache is wearing away. Pain for family lost won't leave soon. "Thanks for listening, Cole."

"You're welcome, Irvine."

"They say—" Irvine blurts out. He pauses, then says more gently, "Do you...know what they say about you?"

"I'm a demon."

"Just because you act a little different." Irvine pokes at an old bruise, the black brand on his face and all that means in a kingdom below the ground. "Don't you listen to 'em. People are petty and cruel. You're nothing of the sort."

"I am, though. Or I was. I can't become that again."

Irvine blinks. Cole feels the sharp slap of his offence, and hears the thought, "What kind of person is the Inquisitor if she lets him think such awful things about himself?"

 _He thinks I mean figuratively._ Cole opens his mouth to speak the truth, but Irvine speaks faster.

"Be that as it may, if you ever need an ear to listen, feel free to seek me out. It'd be my, ah, pleasure." A flush starts at his cheeks.

For a moment, Cole says nothing. _He will find out what I am and regret his offer. But Varric wants me to make friends._ "Thank you."

Cole's moment of silence is louder in Irvine's ears than his words are. What he says is, "If you'll excuse me, it's my turn to read to the littles. See you around," but Cole also hears, "Overreaching again, stupid brand."

"You too." _That did not go well._ The urge to reach out and make Irvine forget is still so strong, even though that ability is lost to him. Sighing, Cole starts up the mountain to the Herald's Rest.

Adder is there, drinking ale, with Blackwall, Iron Bull and Dorian, who are drinking water or cider.

"And then," Blackwall is saying, "she jumps up on my shoulders, firing arrows all the while, the mad thing!"

Adder laughs along with everyone. But inside she's shaking, snarling. "That's right, Sera the joke. And me the bigger joke for loving her...."

Everyone smiles at Cole when he approaches, but Cole knows how fake those smiles are. Part of Blackwall is still holding his dearest friend as she breaks down, still heavy with her anger and his shame. Dorian is fuming over a letter from Maeveris about the Tevinter Imperium's collective shrug at the defeat of Corypheus and the persistent whispers that now would be the perfect time to march on the south. The Iron Bull wishes there wasn't a Venatori enclave on the Storm Coast—he and the Chargers will go, of course, but it'd be nice not to start having the dreadnought dreams again.

Adder's smile is the widest and the most false. "Shit, what's he going to say this time? I wouldn't be thinking so much about my fucking mother if he'd shut up about her.... Maker, he's probably hearing this, isn't he?" Her anger extinguishes, swamped by shame.

"I don't mind," he says. So many pains, so many hurts, and that's just these four. There's Cassandra, who walked away from the Seekers and now seeks a purpose she might never find. Varric, crumpling up another letter to Bianca and adding it to the growing pile of paper balls on the floor.

And Sera. Running past Varric at his chair, past Cassandra at the training dummy, bursting into the bar in a wild, windy whirl. Cole starts humming.

Adder doesn't feel at ease. It's obvious to everyone else something's wrong: Dorian leans in closer to Adder, Blackwall stares into his cider, and Iron Bull watches neutrally. Sera starts to rush, then stops, makes herself walk.

"Thought about it," Sera says, softly, for once. She reaches out for Adder's hand. After a wary, wordless moment, Adder takes it.

Sera leads Adder to her room. When she doesn't close the door behind them, Adder raises an eyebrow at her. Cole bites down on his tongue.

"I can talk," Sera explains. She holds Adder's hands loosely, thumbs stroking Adder's forefingers. "No shouting—honest. Won't be any whispers or titters or buying you beer so you don't feel so shite. I can be like people. It's...harder for me, I guess. But, fuck, you're worth it. 'Sides, what else do I have to do in Skyhold but eat cake and get fat? Learning to be less a cunt will be good for me."

Adder mutters just loud enough to be heard, "Well...could work on your lockpicking skills...."

"Ha bloody ha." But Sera smiles and Adder smiles back. "Talk to me, Inky? I want to be better."

And Adder does exactly what Cole asked of her. The lesson her mother taught her no longer lessens. Cole is so startled, he stops humming. _Oh, I hope I was right about Sera._

Adder talks around her mother, not of her, but Sera knows enough of a whorehouse in Ansburg to understand why a raised voice might mean more to Adder than it does to Sera. (Adder isn't even thinking about Granny Mae and rats in the dark. The ones that should love you but hurt you cut the deepest.) Adder's smoothness makes Sera's teeth itch, but Sera reminds herself that not everyone howls and thrashes when pain hits. Sera's words don't come out right, but Adder counts to ten and tries to hear behind them.

The puzzle pieces don't make a picture, but Sera and Adder break some nobs off and cut some holes out and at least they fit together.

"So, kid, how was Skinner out in the yard yesterday?" asks The Iron Bull.

 _Distracting me, so I won't say anything embarrassing_ _about what's going on in Sera's room_ _._ "Old aches are burrs on the cloak of her thoughts, pulling, snagging the thread. The smell of honey-cakes always makes her think of the bad times."

"Yeah...I meant how's her flank attack coming along, but that's good to know, too."

Now that he's focused close by, it's harder to ignore the waves of hurt from Blackwall. "It would be worse if she didn't care."

"It would," Blackwall agrees. It's too early in the morning to get as drunk as he wants.

"My, is it time for cryptic comments already?" asks Dorian. "What fun."

Kissing has started, up above. Sera glances at the door then moves to close it. "Said no whispers—"

Adder pulls her close. "You don't have to be _that_ normal." She leaves her arms loose, though, so Sera could break her hold and close the door if she wanted to.

Sera doesn't. She kisses Adder back. It's just Sutherland and his lot up on the second floor. They've seen worse.

Cole relaxes with a sigh, feels the three around him relax as well. Dorian will doubtless hear all about the reunion from Adder when they next talk. The Iron Bull thinks it's about time Adder got laid properly. And Blackwall's happy that he played some small part in helping. It might be the last time he ever helps Sera, after all.

"We might want to leave," Cole advises. "It's probably going to get loud soon."

The Iron Bull's laugh booms throughout the Herald's Rest, over the sound of conversation and the crackle of flame in the fireplace. Cole smiles to hear it.

Cole thinks of what he will do today. He will find Irvine, apologize for hesitating, and tell him he would be happy to be his friend. Irvine might not want to be once he finds out what Cole is, but he might. Another puzzle to fit together.

 _I shouldn't give up on good because I'm scared._ The thought comes tinged with Sera, combative, angry at how shit things can get even when both people are trying their best—but learning that you still try, even through the fear and the pain.

Learning from Sera. That's something he never thought would happen.

_Being human certainly is interesting._


	4. Epilogue: The Myriad of Missives

Letter and coins in hand, Sera bounds up to the rookery, taking the steps two at a time.

"To The Gull and Lantern," she says to Mundare, one of the messengers.

Mundare smiles. "What song did your mistress write about your lover this time?" It's just teasing, so Sera lets her get away with it. And even if Mundare's a little bit serious, so what? People think stupid shite that ain't true all the time.

"The Ox Seals the Breach. Got this great bit where the ox seals the Breach but all this time she's got a hole in her breeches!" Sera blinks. "Aw, shite, ruined the ending. But it's real funny. The Breach farts demons!"

"Still not sure how the Inquisitor is fine with you funding a woman who writes insulting songs about her…." Mundare turns her head to sneeze into the crook of her arm. She's been sneezing away for a week now. Sera reminds herself to ask that gardener elf if she knows any plants that'll kill a stubborn cold.

"Inky thinks they're a laugh." It took Adder a few minutes, though—she frowned at hearing "ox" before admitting it's an easier word to rhyme than Qunari. "She's thinking of having Lilting Leanne play Skyhold."

"The Inquisitor's a forgiving woman," Mundare says, like she doesn't quite believe Sera.

Sera doesn't mention that Adder said Lilting Leanne's invitation will be an "arrest." Everyone'll act like she's going to be executed until she gets to Skyhold's main hall and Adder waves her hand, strikes off her chains, and asks her to play. Bit of payback for the song about Haven.

Adder won't actually do that, of course—too bitchy—but Sera likes when Adder's fantasies get a bit mean. Makes her people.

Sera's halfway down the stairs when a messenger whose name she doesn't know stops her and hands her two letters. He half-bows when he sees her, and Sera sighs. Her skin pinches up right proper. Not like she can know everyone in Skyhold well enough to tell them she's just people. She tries to memorize his face so she can find him again in Skyhold's Shadow, but he's gone before she catches more than the basics of two eyes, a nose and a mouth. She'll ask around, find out who the new guy is.

She looks over the letters. The first letter she picks is addressed to "Red Jenny at Skyhold."

_Not sure if you remember me. Ardley Hambledon from the Hinterlands. Thanks for the donation. Not sure if this letter will reach you. Sumtimes meeting you seems a fever dream. But the blankets and food we have are real enuf._

Sera grins. Not every day she gets to hear how she's helped people beyond rumour. Time was, she'd just move on, assuming whatever she did worked.

_I've not forgot your offer. If you get this letter, would you send something to Dusklight as proof you meant what you said? A red hankerchiff or sumthing. Not posh. Tween my man and my babes, I can't travel as light as I once did._

_Maybe I'll see you in spring._

Sera's wearing a red tunic today; she rips a piece off. She grabs a letter, scribbles "To Ardley Hambledon of Dusklight" then hands it to Mundare, who's blinking at Sera like she's just done something weird. "Got something else for your birds."

"Ah...right," Mundare murmurs, coughing.

The second letter is addressed to Sera. It reads, _I survived the Joining. I'm a true Grey Warden now._ More words follow, but Sera can't read anymore. Her happiness hurts. Like eating so much food so your stomach feels like it'll burst.

She runs, taking the stairs three at a time. Hearing Adder's voice nearby, she makes for it.

Adder's at what she calls her book club, which is actually actually her "argue with Dorian" club. They're the only members. There's a second chair in Dorian's alcove, but Adder's not sitting in it. She's holding a book out to Dorian, reading something out to him while he rolls his eyes. An unopened letter sits on Adder's chair. Or Sera guesses it's unopened. If Adder read it, she'd know Blackwall's alive, and how can anyone know that and still argue boring book shite?

Sera skids to a stop in front of them. "Beardy's back." She frowns—not what she meant to say, though she wants to say it so much she aches. Alive but not here is just as bad as maybe-alive, maybe-dead. "I mean, alive. Drank some ogre jizz and got all spoiled good and proper."

Adder's face brightens. Even Dorian smiles— _knew it. Secret friends, them two._

"Tainted by darkspawn blood, actually," Adder says.

It doesn't take long for Sera to think of 'taint.' She giggles as she launches herself at Adder, then squeezes her tight. This woman filled her days once Blackwall left three months ago. She baked cookies even though she hates cookies; taught Sera string games she played as a kid; had Leliana's people report to Sera about suppliers for the refugee camps like she was the spymaster, not Leliana. Sera tries to say 'I love you' and 'thank you' in her hug, every muscle rock-hard.

"Not that I know any Grey Warden secrets," Adder adds. "Just an informed guess, really." She ruffles Sera's hair, and Sera has another one of those moments where she feels like this has happened before. But of course this has: Adder loves touching her hair. Weird, for someone who's never grown any in the billions of years Sera's known her.

After a moment, Adder says, "Um, love, I need to breathe…."

"Could hold more breath if you stopped going on. We know you're clever. No need to keep showing off every mo."

"She has to when she's around me," Dorian quips as he sits down in his chair.

Adder rolls her eyes and starts to speak. _A_ _lways ready for another round of "who can have the last word."_

Sera lets Adder go and hugs Dorian, mussing up his hair just so he can bitch at her.

"Well, I'm off to send Weisshaupt an official Inquisitor letter asking for Blackwall to be returned to us," Adder says. "See you later tonight, love."

Sera giggles. "You bet you will. With no pants." Dorian flinches, which only makes Sera start thinking of other sexy things to say.

Her lover stares at Sera, blinking. "That's going to make babysitting rather awkward."

"Baby-what now?"

"The babysitting you volunteered me for months ago?"

"I...oh! Shite." It took Sera a stupidly long time to figure out that, of course, Alriss was never going to tell her if he needed a babysitter. She had to pay attention to chit-chat, but finally she caught wind of Alriss and Piyami wanting a night out to listen to her favourite minstrel at the newest pub in Skyhold's Shadow. "That's tonight, is it? Okay, fine, fine: pants, then."

Then she's off again, moving because she has to. Sera takes the steps three at a time, dodges around some nobles and finds herself bursting into Josephine's office. "Did you get a bird?"

It's obvious that she did by the long letter that she's holding and the tears shining in her eyes as she smiles. "He survived. Andraste be praised."

Sera launches herself at Josephine for a hug.

"I―" the ambassador murmurs, startled, then gives her a gentle hug back.

When Sera pulls away, Josephine checks to see if the gold chain around her neck is still there.

Sera laughs. "Catch on quick, Lady Shiny-Bloomers, but it was a real hug this time. It's just...it's grand, isn't it? So grand."

Sera tells everyone she can think of: Dagna, Bernie, Witty Ritts, Jana, Cabot. Not everyone loved Blackwall, but at least they put on a smile for her. She even tells Cole, who says he knew like he's surprised she didn't, and even him reading Blackwall's mind like a book doesn't bother her. He goes back to playing with his kitten, a little orange thing he calls Orange Cat. Adder said he's got some friends coming in soon, a templar and a mage. Sera reminds herself to keep an eye on them—anyone who's barmy enough to call Cole friend deserves a close watch.

The sun gets low in the sky, and Sera and Adder make their way to Skyhold's Shadow.

Being out in the snow makes Sera think about the last time they were out together: hunting the caravanners that scammed refugee camps.

Sera had an idea. Adder made the plan. They set off from Skyhold with Witty Ritts, Cass, Dorian and Iron Bull. Adder made this shipment real grand: blankets and winter clothes made by Avvars, now that she's in with that lot in the Frostback Basin; cider and cocoa all the way from Val Royeaux; even toys for Winter's End.

The Inquisition struck near the Fallow Mire, the caravanners' usual drop-off point. Didn't catch the shit-waffles in the act, but that didn't matter. Sera knew who was who, knew their families, knew where their mansions were. Something a Red Jenny doesn't always get. When she first came to Orlais, she made a hash of a few jobs because she dove in without checking her facts.

"Madame Vegreville?" she called out. "Monsieur Trochu?" The two looked up and faced her arrow, fire burning at its head.

A cry went out from the caravan's guards as they scrambled, unsheathing swords and daggers. Then Adder lowered her hood and cheerfully announced who she was. The guards might as well have been hit with an ice spell. The Bull sighed, all disappointed there wasn't a fight.

The Inquisition tied Vegreville and Trochu up, pulled down their hoods, and held a lantern close to them. Witty Ritts sketched their faces. Adder did the talking. She explained that, thanks to these sketches, none of them would work in either Ferelden or Orlais anymore. For their crimes, their homes and assets had been seized by the Ferelden crown.

"It's good to be a friend of the king," Adder said as Sera prowled around the two caravanners. "If you want to make a living, you and your families will have to go someplace the Inquisition can forget about you. The Anderfels. Rivain. Tevinter."

It took a few moments for that to sink in. Not too far away, Iron Bull and Cass were grabbing the weapons of the surrendering guards.

"But—but how can we travel with no funds?" sputtered Trochu.

"You'll have to rely on the kindness of strangers." Adder grinned. "Like a refugee, I suppose."

Sera dashed close and kneed Trochu in the crotch. He was silent for a breath, then he howled and pitched forward. When she needs a laugh, Sera takes that memory out of her brain-drawer and shines it up.

Sera raised an eyebrow at Adder. "We ain't sketching his dangle-bag next, yeah?"

"Mmm, probably not."

Sera kicked Trochu in the arse because they weren't sketching that, either. But the plan wasn't sitting quite right. Her gaze went to the guards. They were gonna be shoved in cells until whenever Adder thought they'd learned their lesson. They didn't get to walk away.

Sera reached behind her. "Inky? Dagger." Her brain scrambled to answer the coming question. But there weren't words, just the weight of a pommel in her hand. She grabbed Vegreville's face and cut a "T" into her cheek, then did the same for Trochu. (Later, Adder asked if "T" was for "traitor" and Sera said sure, but at the time she'd just thought it'd be more noticeable than a simple slash.)

"Don't forget those," Sera said to Witty Ritts, who nodded and added those to the sketch.

Sera grins at that memory, too, and not just because of the shrieks of those rich tits. She grins at Adder's knife in her hand, no questions asked, no warning that this might ruin the plan. Trust warming her belly like mulled wine.

Seems being out in the snow makes Adder think of something entirely different. "Did you ever figure out what all this was for?"

"Eh?"

"Part of why you joined the Inquisition was to figure out about Andraste and the Maker. Just wondered what you thought about everything."

"What, that? Pssh, said that to sound deep and wise enough for you to shag."

"Really? Little Miss 'Believe For Me, Adder' doesn't have any thoughts about the Maker?"

"Well...sure, but…. Shite, you really care?" At Adder's encouraging nod, Sera continues. "Right. Well, putting on my Sera-of-the-Deep-Thoughts Hat, here's the why of this: Maker needed someone to kick this Corrynit into splatter-dom and chose yourself. Made it so everyone fell at your feet and all. Helped me and you become us. Shite that so many had to die...but we don't live in a world of warm winters and beer rivers, yeah?"

"So the Maker's a noble and we're the little people who do his dirty work?"

A joke. Again. Sera bites back a sigh. _She done grand at getting used to me; I gotta return the favour._ "Not like that when you're a god! Not the same thing at all. Can't be. Stop chewing stuff over with your brain. Chewing's for the stomach, innit? The gut. Where food's s'posda go. Faith, too."

"You chew with your mouth…."

Sera grabs some snow, squeezes it until it's a snow pellet, and throws it.

Adder sidesteps with a snort. "What are you, twelve?" But she bends down to scoop up a handful of snow.

"Practice for the sprogs, yeah?"

"I—you know, that actually makes sense. Completely by accident, I'm sure."

"So? Best kind of sense's the kind that comes after." She frowns—now Adder's got her nattering. Time to throw some snow.

It's too powdery for a proper snowball fight, but they try. It's more about the snorting and giggles than anything.

"Denerim had grand snow for throwing," Sera comments, startled by a flash of wee-Sera snowball fighting with a harelipped human boy. What was his name?

"Makes sense," Adder says. "It's near the ocean."

Sera has no idea what Adder's on about. "Wasn't all 'shite, I'm hungry' or 'shite, I'm freezing,' way back in ages past. I forget that, sometimes."

Adder relaxes and opens her mouth, but Sera doesn't feel like Storytime from Denerim's Alleys, so she leaps forward and kicks a spray of snow Adder's way.

They finish the fight and finally make it to the house that has Alriss' room in it. He shares it with two other families. Before Adder can knock, Alriss and Piyami, wearing their best, open the door. Seeing their guests, they freeze.

"S—Sera!" Alriss blurts out. "Good eve! And who's—"

"Adder Adaar," Adder says, like her name means nothing.

That's clearly what Alriss was afraid of: he gulps, then he and his wife fall to their knees, murmuring, "Inquisitor."

"Alriss and Piyami Sedgewick, I take it?" Adder continues, easy like she's talking to Sera or Dorian. "Sera's told me about you. I'd be happy to watch your son, if you'd like."

Husband and wife share a glance with their heads still down, so they can hide their expressions.

"I have experience with children," Adder says quickly. "When I was just eight, I looked after my baby brother while Mom worked all day during harvest."

Sera startles. Usually, baby brother talk comes out after bottles of hard booze (which probably comes after a mutter from Cole, the prick). Far as Sera knows, Adder's never given him up so freely. Sera's never even worked up the nerve to ask his name. Maybe she should.

But, later. "C'mon, Al, I promised you some child-minding after my shite custard prank, remember? Time I kept my promise."

"You'd save me from an evening of reading tax reports," Adder continues. "I'm seeing numbers in my sleep."

Another glance between husband and wife. "Brentin is quite a handful, my lady," Piyami hedges.

"Well, why don't I meet him? We can see how he takes to me."

Alriss and Piyami stand and lead her into the main room. A stewpot hangs bubbling over a blazing fire. An old human woman sits on a stool close by, knitting a brown scarf. Six kids, two elves and four humans, play tag, ducking beneath the large dining table, leaping off of wooden chairs. Some are toddlers, some could be six or ten or whatever—Sera's shite at guessing ages. There's a small painting of a chantry at dawn above the wash basin, and potato peels litter the floor.

"I said 'you're it!'" one sprog wails.

"You didn't sodding touch me!"

"Did too!"

"Brentin, over here," Piyami says.

One of the younger elves huffs "Later, Ma."

"Brentin," Alriss snaps. Takes a few more tries, but Brentin finally listens. He frowns up at Sera and Adder.

"Who you?" he asks, once he's close enough.

"This is Papa's friend Sera. Brentin, this is the Inquisitor."

The old woman stops her knitting and gasps. "The—the Inquisitor!" She starts to bow, only stopping when Adder says, "Please, there's no need, ma'am."

Brentin isn't so impressed. He eyes his father like Al's joking. Looking up at Adder, he says, "You eyes is funny."

His parents fall dead silent. Adder chuckles.

Piyami sputters, "Brent! She's a Qunari!"

Brentin considers this, and concludes, "You skin is funny."

"They have grey skin!" Alriss says quickly. "I'm so sorry, my lady, he knows better than this—"

"I'd rather the child that asks outright than the adult that stares and whispers," Adder says. "Kids learn better than adults." Does she have a book of clever-sounding shite she reads every night in case she needs a saying? Adder crouches down to get on Brentin's level, but even crouched she towers over him. "I'm here to look after you for the evening. Would you like that?"

Brentin shrugs. "'Kay."

"There," Sera says. "He don't give two shits." For some reason, Alriss and Piyami flinch. "So go off and have your fun, yeah?"

"Sera, language," Adder snaps.

Hurt blooms. Sera wants to snap 'What's your sodding problem?' until, a moment later, she realizes that Adder isn't trying to change her. _Gotta put an act on for the parents._

"What? Gonna learn it somewhere." Not that Sera will make it easy.

"I'll keep her in line," Adder says.

"Well," Alriss says with a smile, "if you can handle Sera, I'm sure Brentin will be a day at the fair." The joke relaxes him and Piyami a touch. They give some instructions, say their goodbyes, and make their way out.

Before they close the door, Sera shouts, "Arse! Prick!" loud as she can. The old woman frowns at her and mutters something under her breath.

"Sera!"

"What? S'funny."

"Brat." She glances at the closed door. "At least _they_ know not to give you attention…."

The kids start playing tag again, but different: the older kids glance at Adder so much that Brentin and the other tots start whining that they're not playing right. This leads to arguments, which leads to pushing, which leads to Adder stepping in and making everyone say their sorries.

Then an elf brat in adorable pigtails says, "Are you really the Inquisitor?", and of course Adder says yes. Adorable Lass asks if Adder was scared when she fought Corypheus, and of course Adder says yes. With a shrug, Adder adds, "It had to be done," like killing a magister god monster was nothing. The brats are wide-eyed; they believe her. Sera's held Adder through the nightmares; she knows better. The old woman's listening, too, and if she can see over Adder's walls, she keeps it to herself.

Then Adder has to answer a load of questions as the kids crowd around. Even the old woman scoots a bit closer. Adder sits in one of the chairs at the table to make herself comfortable. Did you really meet elves from Arlathan? Can your green hand explode demons? I heard the Iron Bull cut a Venatori right down the middle and both his halves just went splat on either side and tripped two Stalkers that were coming up behind you—is that true?

All questions Sera knows the answer to. She takes out her journal and starts drawing, only half-listening. One of the wee ones starts grumbling, but she figures her lover can handle it—she'll step in if more than one start up.

Adder's shadow falls over her. Sera glances up. Brentin is sitting on Adder's shoulders. He's peering at her skull, rubbing his hand over a patch of it. _Trying to rub the grey off her skin_ , Sera realizes. _Arse._ She opens her mouth to tell him off, then shuts it. If it bothered Adder, she would've made him stop.

What Adder sees in the journal makes her snicker. It's only then that Sera thinks about what she's drawing. In the middle of the page, a half-dragon, half-Qunari punches its way out of an egg. On the left, a beaming Adder hands the kid its first dagger, and, on the right, a beaming Sera hands it its first arrow and cookie. There's a discarded nappy at the bottom of the page, with the words "don't need 'em" above.

Sera snaps her journal shut, cheeks burning. She glares _Don't say a word._

Adder's fond smirk replies, _I won't...for now. Also? You're cute._

Sera shrugs _Whatever_ , then wiggles her fingers around her head to say _Loony_. She looks at the kids behind Adder, beckoning _Come here!_

"Right, sprogs, listen up. Red Jenny's gonna teach you how to pick a lock."


End file.
